


Work In Progress

by Secretmonkey



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: Amy moving on, Confusion, F/F, Friendship, Humor, Lauren and Amy Road Trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secretmonkey/pseuds/Secretmonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set late in this season, after a Reamy breakup. Begins post-prom but follows with the pool kiss. Amy's journey (though Lauren tags along). Not Karmy, Not Reamy. Amy trying to figure her stuff out without the dysfunction of her friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Based on a prompt I got months ago about flying whales. I forgot who sent it, so my apologies for not giving credit. I started this, never finished it, and based on previews and whatnot... set in the future after a Reamy break-up.** _

It's the whales. That's what does it. That's what tells them all that Amy is as high as a fucking kite.

Or would tell them. If they weren't all just as baked.

Amy sits up suddenly, swinging her feet down off Reagan's couch and almost kicking Liam in the head

(totally accidentally)

and she's got this look on her face like she's just solved every crisis in the world. She's going to bring peace to the Middle East, solve global warming, end world hunger, and figure out a way for Carmilla and Laura to be together.

Or…

She might just ask about the whales.

"What if," she starts, "and go with me on this… what it the whales - and  _only_  the whales - started to fly?"

It's the single most ridiculous thing any of them has ever heard.

Which doesn't mean every one of them isn't thinking about it right now.

It's the day after prom, which means it's really the  _night_  after prom because most of them spent the  _day_ after prom passed out, recovering, and trying to figure out which of the relationships they'd fucked up the most. Someone, probably Karma

(it seems like a Karma thing to do)

made them all agree they'd get back together and have, to quote Shane, a 'group hang'.

Amy suspects it had something to do with Karma wanting Liam to see her with Wade. Or Wade to see her with Liam. Or someone - anyone, really - to see her with someone, the perfect evidence of the perfect, fairy-tale, all as it should be in Karma-land prom experience.

Originally, they'd planned on Amy's house, but now Karma's trying to talk Amy into hosting an end of the school year party

(she has a pool after all and Amy knows Karma's always dreamed of under the stars kisses in a pool)

so, instead, Reagan, for some reason only she will ever understand, has let them all gather at her place. She barely remembers making the suggestion but, apparently, it was the one thing sad and drunk and all 'I kissed a boy and I didn't like it' Amy held onto from the nearly three hour conversation they had when sad and drunk Amy showed up unannounced at four am.

It was the first time they'd talked since the break up, save for a couple of 'how you doing?' texts and Reagan probably only said it stop Amy from crying and because, break-up aside, she's missed Amy.

She might have skipped  _that_  part when explaining things to Nicole, her new girlfriend, right after said new girlfriend found ex-girlfriend sleeping on the couch at seven in the morning, and might have focused on how much fun a little impromptu party would be.

And now, it's a little awkward, to say the least, having them all under one roof - Reagan's lost count of how many love triangles, squares, parallelograms, rhombuses

(rhombi?)

and other assorted geometric shapes are sitting around her living room. But, so far, there's been minimal drama

(Lauren might have voiced some concerns over having weed around a former cop)

(Theo might have assuaged those concerns by taking the first - and second and third - hits)

and peace has reigned. Peace and a whole lot of weed - thank you Mr. and Mrs. Ashcroft for missing that stash of the good stuff during the move to the Good Karma truck - and even if Reagan doubts it will stay this mellow, she still can't help but be curious.

She just wants to see how it's all gonna end.

Hence, Amy and the weed and the whales.

After Amy says it, they all just sit there for a moment. A couple of them

(a very quickly stoned Felix and a mellowed out but totally gone Theo)

stare up at the ceiling of Reagan's apartment like they can actually, you know,  _see_  the whales.

"Woah," Karma says, leaning back against an ottoman next to Felix. She's struck suddenly, by the image of a giant whale, majestically floating through the clouds like a huge mammalian zeppelin.

" _I know_ ," Amy says, nodding her head. "The  _whales_." She whispers that last bit, like she's the 'I see dead people' kid.

"Wait," Lauren says, straightening up, her back pressing against Theo's chest as she sits between his outstretched legs. No one, not even Amy, has been able to get a straight answer as to whether they're back together, but they're the only ones acting couply

(except for Reagan and Nicole, who Amy didn't even know existed until four that morning, but she's happy Reagan's found her and they seem really happy and Amy's just decided, right this very second, that she totally  _hates_  her, just on principle)

(yup,  _just_  on principle)

so everyone is just going with it, mostly because Lauren seems happy and because no one wants to be the one to make her unhappy. No one is that dumb.

Not even Liam.

"The  _whales_?" Lauren asks. She cocks her head thoughtfully when Amy nods. "But whales don't fly."

Even high Lauren has a sense of logic.

" _Exactly!"_ Amy says. She bounces in place on the couch and her bottle of water tips, pouring some out over Liam's shoulder. But he hardly notices.

He's too busy staring at Karma.

Who is staring at Wade.

Who is making a real effort not to stare at  _anyone_  - especially not Karma or Shane

(former threesome partners totally equals avoiding eye contact)

and if he wasn't so high, he'd probably be wondering what the hell he's doing here

(besides adding more drama to the star-crossed love / bullshit affair that is Kiam)

since he's only known most of these people for like ten minutes, even if it feels like weeks.

Amy puts a finger to her nose - Reagan grinning at how adorable high Amy is - and points at Lauren. "You got it," she says. "That's the whole point. They  _don't_  fly. But what if, one day, out of the blue, they  _did_?"

A quick glance around the room confirms for Reagan that she's the only one who's even remotely picked up on the sub-text.

Something that doesn't do something, suddenly does it. And it changes everything.

Hmmm… what on Earth could make  _Amy_  think of something like  _that_?

"Flying whales?" Liam asks, suddenly noticing his damp shirt and then, just as quickly, forgetting it. "That's deep."

Everyone waits for him to follow up, but all he does is go back to staring at Karma which makes everyone,  _except_  Karma, vaguely uncomfortable, but he's not talking about integrity and true love and his sacrifice so that's an improvement.

"Which?" Karma asks, finally pulling her eyes away from Wade but then they land on Liam so she just as quickly turns the other way and sees Shane and so another shift and there's Amy

(and for fuck's sake, is there  _anyone_  here she hasn't kissed?)

before she finally turns, right next to her, to find Felix sprawled out, his head slowly tipping toward her shoulder because, clearly, Felix is a big a lightweight as he is a black hole of boring.

"Which what," he mumbles, slipping ever closer to Karma and completely oblivious to the death glare Liam's fixed him with.

"Which whales?" Karma asks, putting both hands on his shoulders and slowly steering him back upright. "Which whales are flying? Sperm? Killer? Humpback?"

Shane snorts next to Liam. "She said  _sperm_."

They all ignore him which, truthfully, most have them been doing that since the week leading up to prom anyway. That was when his obsession with Wade - and with not letting Karma get him, at least not  _alone_  - reached a fever pitch.

But, when  _aren't_ things with Shane at a fever pitch. Besides, if he's joking about sperm at least he's too busy to out anyone.

Amy shakes her head, exasperated with Karma. "It doesn't matter  _which_ ," she says. "All the whales, they're all flying. Everywhere. Wherever they have to go, they fly."

"But where do whales have to go?" Nicole asks from her spot on Reagan's lap and the only thing Reagan can think is  _oh, baby, don't talk_.

Every eye in the room - even Felix's near closed ones - turns on her, all of them wondering the same thing.

_Who the hell_ are  _you, again?_

"Whales," Liam says, nodding and staring at Nicole just a bit too long

(she's a lesbian, he has no choice)

and then he turns to Theo with an outstretched fist. "Gimme a little dap for the whales," he says. "Am I right?"

Theo just stares at him, all glassy eyed and lost and oh if his former Captain could see him now.

Lauren reaches out and slowly guides Liam's hand back down. "No," she says, shaking her head. "Just… no."

Liam nods again, unfazed by the rejection. "Riiiiight." He nudges Shane with his shoulder, nearly knocking his best friend over. "What's up?"

"The whales are," Wade says and immediately regrets it because now the synchronized side eyeing is aimed at him. "Cause," he says, trying - and failing - to make it better, "they're flying."

They fall into silence for a moment - everyone else afraid to speak after  _that_  - until Karma finally breaks it.

"But why?" she asks, using a shoulder to push Felix back up again. "Why would they just suddenly fly? What's wrong with swimming? They've been swimming all their lives. And it's always been good enough."

"Yeah," Liam says, nodding like the world's straightest bobble-head.

Reagan waits, wondering if anyone else is going to get it or if Amy will have to take the bait.

"Maybe they just thought flying sounded better," Amy says, shifting slightly on the couch and spilling more water on Liam. "Or maybe they realized flying was what they were meant to do."

"Fuckin' A!" Liam yells as Reagan snaps her eyes back to Karma.

"They just  _realized_?" Karma asks. "Or maybe they just  _thought_  they realized. I mean, maybe they flew once and thought 'wow, this is awesome' but in the end, they'll totally get that swimming is what's best. Swimming is where it's at."

"Damn straight," Liam says and Reagan notices that the higher he gets, the more and more he sounds like a British fuckboy.

"And  _maybe_ ," Amy says, "they only swam for all that time because that's what everyone says whales are supposed to do. So they did it. And they even tried really, really hard to like it, but in the end it was just wet and cold and… ugh."

"Ugh?" Felix lifts his head for just a moment and Reagan almost feels bad for him

(but she remembers the way Amy described his kiss and damn, she can't feel that bad because really, how does anyone screw up kissing Amy Raudenfeld?)

"Maybe not  _totally_  ugh," Amy says, clearly taking some pity on the boy. "Like they could do it, if they  _had_  to." She glances over at Reagan. "But why would they?"

Nicole tenses in Reagan's lap and Liam yells "Preach on!" and Reagan makes a silent vow to never get high with him again.

"But what about the other sea creatures?" Karma asks. She scoots forward so Felix's head slips off her shoulder and he topples over behind her, his head resting on the ottoman. "What about the ones the whales just leave behind? What about  _them_?"

"Yeah, Amy," Liam chimes in. "What  _about_ them?"

Amy shrugs and Reagan can see it in her eyes. She's sobered up. And the fun's gone.

"Maybe they'd like flying too," Amy says. "But even if they didn't… it doesn't matter. They're all too busy swimming and swimming and swimming  _and swimming_  to ever even notice the whales are gone."

Nicole leans in close and whispers in Reagan's ear. "I don't think they're really talking about whales."

Reagan smiles and thanks God Nicole's good with her tongue.

"Well…. well…" Karma's lost and floundering and Amy's in no mood to help her out.

"Yeah, babe. Right. Fucking. On." Liam says and Karma smiles, shyly

(or as shy as you can smile at someone you've basically fucked in a car)

and Amt stands, suddenly, picking up her bottle of water and dumping it directly over his head before stalking off to the kitchen.

Shane wobbles his way back into the conversation when some of the water splashes off Liam and onto him. "Dude," he says. "You're wet. Were you swimming with the whales?"

* * *

Amy's standing over the sink, washing a glass when Reagan catches up to her.

"So…" Reagan says. "That was interesting."

Amy scrubs the inside of the glass and rinses it, then takes the sponge to the outside.

"It's kinda cool, you know," Reagan says, "having all your friends here. We never spent all that much time with them when we were…"

She trails off as Amy glares at her and then returns to the glass.

"Yeah, sorry, my bad," Reagan says realizing a little belatedly that maybe the breakup is still something of a sore subject. She glances out over her little breakfast bar at the living room, Nicole smiling back at her.

"It is," Amy says after a minute. "Cool, I mean," she says. "Having them all together."

Amy's never had much in the way of friends outside of Karma. And while she's not entirely sure she'd count Wade or Liam as  _friends_

(and Felix is… well… the less said, the better)

it's still a far cry from the days when the only people she spoke to were her mother, Karma, and Irma the lunch lady.

"It's like we're all a big group now," she says. "Like a team or a club or an…"

"Ensemble?" Reagan offers and Amy nods. "I get that," she says. "That must be nice for you, maybe take a little of the pressure off. Now it doesn't always have to be the Karma and Amy show."

Nice. Yeah. That's exactly the word for it. Except for when it isn't so nice, like all those times when Amy finds herself wishing it was always  _just_  the Karma and Amy show.

Too many times, she's wished for that, especially lately.

"Or the Karma and Amy and  _Liam_  show," Amy says even though they both know she means the  _Kiam_  and Amy show because, let's face it, since the moment she agreed to faking it, Amy's been third-wheeling that shit like a four-year-old on their first Big Wheel.

She rinses the glass and then starts washing the inside again, but Reagan doesn't mention it.

"So… you and… what's his name? Felix?"

The glass slips from Amy's hand but she catches it before it hits the sink and breaks. "Yeah," she says, "about  _that_ …"

"It's OK, Shrimps," Reagan says. She knows what Amy's worried about, the impression her hooking up with a boy might give. "I know I wasn't a phase to you."

She covers one of Amy's hands with her own and Amy can only hope Reagan doesn't feel the tremble.

"So, Nicole seems nice."

Inwardly, Amy groans. She doesn't have all that much relationship experience but even she knows that when the ex says the new GF 'seems nice' that totally translates to 'she's a fucking bitch faced whore and I want her to die."

Reagan laughs and squeezes Amy's hand. "Nicole  _is_  nice," she says.

And then there's a pause, an opening, and both of them wonder, for a moment, if 'but she's not you' would fit neatly into that pause.

It would. It really would.

But Reagan knows - and has always known, even if she didn't want to admit it - that Amy isn't ready for that and, while there's  _a lot_  of reasons for that, a certain redheaded reason is sitting in the living room.

But still. There's that pause.

And maybe, for right now, that's enough.

Both girls speak at the same time, Amy saying 'I'm being stupid aren't I?' and Reagan asking 'it's Karma, isn't it?'.

Reagan hops up onto the counter next to the sink, never letting go of Amy's hand, and takes the glass from her before she washes it into non-existence.

"I'm  _starting_ to have feelings for her again," Amy says. She keeps her eyes down, like she's embarrassed or ashamed or - most likely - thinks it's sort of mean to say that to Reagan of all people, which is why she makes a point of emphasizing 'starting'.

A part of Reagan wants - really, really wants - to ask Amy if she's sure she ever  _stopped_  having them. But she doesn't. Because she believes Amy  _did_ stop, at least to an extent, as much as anyone can with their first love and their first heartbreak.

And she'll sleep better tonight if she keeps on believing that.

"I take it those are flying whale kind of feelings?"

Amy smiles, a little. "Yeah. Big whales," she says. "Lots of flying. Big stupid fucking whales flying aimlessly across the sky." She squeezes the sponge in her other hand, letting the water run out over her fingers. "And they just keep flying and flying and flying and going fucking nowhere."

Reagan looks out to the living room. Theo, Shane, and Wade are having some kind of dance contest, Lauren's on the couch looking unimpressed, and Felix is passed out on the floor, basically forgotten. And Karma and Liam are…

Nowhere to be found.

"It's not her fault," Amy says, though right now Reagan might tend to disagree. "I told her once she can't control her feelings any more than I can control mine. So, really, I can't be mad at her."

Reagan thinks Amy might have some more grounds for being mad than she thinks, but she also knows the blonde has a point.

_Life's too short to be chasing someone who's chasing someone else_

"But that doesn't change the fact that I'm… miserable," Amy says. "Not being mad at her doesn't make it it any easier to know it will never happen or ignore it when she does things that make me… that fool me into thinking it might. Or to see her chasing after Wade or whoever's next."

Reagan glances back out at the still-no-Kiam-in-sight living room.

She doesn't think there's going to be a next whoever. Not for a while. Not until Karma gets hottie fucking doucheface out of her system.

"I'm sorry," Amy says, dropping the sponge in the sink and blinking back tears. "I shouldn't be dumping all this on you. It's not fair. I mean, until I showed up here last night, I didn't even know if were friends and now -"

Reagan slips off the counter and pulls Amy to her, holding her tight and not caring - not even for a second - that she can feel Nicole's eyes burning into her.

"Of course we're friends, Shrimps," Reagan says. She means it to be soothing but it only seems to make Amy cry harder. "You think I just stopped caring when we broke up?"

Amy shrugs against Reagan's chest. Her only other breakup was with Karma and look how well that turned out.

"We broke up because of timing," Reagan says. "You weren't ready to be what I wanted and I wasn't ready to be what you  _needed_." She wraps her arms a little tighter and tries to ignore the part of her that doesn't want to let go. "You didn't cheat, you didn't lie, you didn't break my heart," she whispers in Amy's ear. "And I'm sorry I disappeared on you, but…"

"But you needed to," Amy says softly and Reagan nods.

"I was never going to get over you, Shrimps. Not with you in my face and my world and my heart… every day," Reagan says. "Saying it was over, that was only half the battle."

Amy tips her head back to look at her and Reagan feels like the air's just gone right out of the room.

"I needed space," she says, "to finish the job."

Reagan steps back and Amy lets herself slowly slip from her ex's arms.

"Maybe that's something you ought to think about," Reagan says. "You know? Look at us. We're hanging out, getting high." They both laugh and Reagan squelches the urge to comment on how much she missed that sound. "Maybe that could work for whales too," she says.

Reagan turns to head back toward the living room, but stops short when Amy calls out to her.

"Did it work?" she asks. "The space. Did it finish the job?"

Reagan glances out at Nicole, who's trying so hard to look at them without looking like she's looking at them and weighs her words carefully. "It's a work in progress," she says softly and then heads back to the living room, slipping back down onto the chair as Nicole scoots back into her lap, kissing her

_you may as well have peed on her_

and Reagan doesn't look back at the kitchen. Not once.

No matter how much she wants to.

* * *

Karma and Liam finally rejoin the fun twenty minutes later. Everyone's highs are just about gone and as their memories kick back in, the laughter has been mostly replaced by uncomfortable chit chat and the occasional silence.

Karma takes a quick look around and then turns to Reagan.

"Where's Amy?"

Reagan smiles and it's this odd cross between happy and sad and something Karma can't quite put her finger on.

"Amy?" Reagan asks, her eyes darting to the door. "Oh. She said to tell you she'd see you later, she had to fly."


	2. This Amy

__

Amy checks her phone so often Reagan starts wondering if it's an addiction.

"She'll call, Shri…  _Amy_."

Old habits, Reagan's discovered, really do die hard. And if either of them ever notices the supposedly discrete longing looks they keep shooting each other, they'll both realize some habits die harder than others.

"I know," Amy says and she  _does_  know. She knows the call will come and, unfortunately, she's already got a fairly good idea of what she's going to hear. That, she figures, is why she wishes it would just come already, so she could just get it over with, just rip the fucking band aid off and all that.

Even if it isn't really her band-aid.

She tosses another t-shirt onto the 'pack' pile and Reagan frowns. "I'm just gonna go ahead and chalk up you packing every piece of food related clothing you own to you being distracted," she says, scooping the tee - dotted with tiny cupcakes - out of the pile.

Amy pauses, a pair of sweats with burgers on them - Farrah bought them when Amy thought she'd somehow lost the bacon sweats - clutched in her hands, and glares at her ex.

(And yeah, that… word… still stings a little.)

(Almost as much as the thought that Reagan was going to bring Nicole with her, until the other girl came down with food poisoning. Or the flu. Or cramps. Or what-the-fuck-ever, like Amy was paying attention or cared.)

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Amy asks, trying to sound angry, but it comes off more like a dare, like she's challenging Reagan and yeah, that  _can't_  end well. "You never had a problem with my food stuff when we were dating."

And if the 'ex' word stung Amy, then the 'd' word hits Reagan like a punch in the gut and she wonders, for about the seven hundredth time since she agreed to help Amy pack, just what the absolute fuck she was thinking.

"I didn't mind them," Reagan says, "because most of them you only wore in private. And  _then_ , i was usually too busy trying to get you out of them to really care what they looked like."

" _Really?_ " Amy asks, taking a small step forward, shrinking the gap between them

(and she  _swears_  it's involuntary)

and her eyes are dancing in a way Reagan hasn't seen them - or anyone's - do in months and the older girl is really starting to wonder what could have possessed her to say that.

Or to tell Nicole it was OK, just stay home honey, Amy and I will be fine.

It's only packing.

What could possibly happen?

"You liked getting me out of my clothes?" Amy asks and she's got that tone, the one she always had when her self esteem was a little low, when she needed Reagan to remind her that yes, she was just about the sexiest fucking woman the DJ has ever known, and yes, she does

(did)

( _does_ )

(so  _fucking_  does)

desperately want to kiss her until neither one of them can breathe, let alone stand. Reagan swallows hard, taking one small step forward - knowing full well it's about the worst best idea she's ever had - and wonders, not for the first time, what the hell it is about Amy that makes her feel like she's the one who's sixteen.

Nicole, she thinks. Remember Nicole.

And then Amy drops the sweats she's holding, her head following them down until she's staring up at Reagan from under heavy lidded eyes.

_Nicole who?_

Reagan's eye run up and down Amy - slowly - drifting over all the places she remembers touching, places she's never quite forgotten and fuck, this is why she's never friends with her ex's, but this isn't just an ex.

This is Amy.

"Reagan," Amy says. "I know we said we weren't -"

And her phone buzzes on the desk.

Amy moves quickly, snatching it up and silencing it, but it's enough -  _just_  enough - to break the mood and Reagan turns back to the piles of clothes.

"Not her?" the older girl asks, immensely proud of the way her voice stays level, even if her heart isn't even close to being on the same page.

Amy shakes her head. She settles herself down on the edge of the bed, her fingers idly toying with the phone and Reagan doesn't know if she's thinking about the message she did get, the one she didn't, or what the hell just nearly happened.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't hoping, at least a little, it was the last one.

Reagan absently flips through a few more shirts and pants that Amy's tossed into the pack pile and lets out a long, slow breath. She's trying,  _really_  fucking hard, to do the right thing here and by 'right thing' she totally means what's best for Amy. And Reagan knows - and she suspects Amy does too - that what's  _best_  isn't necessarily what either of them wants, but that's the whole fucking point, right?

What's  _best_. Not what's fun. Not what's enjoyable. Not what would feel so fucking good Reagan would dump Nicole and Amy would cancel her trip and they'd end up right back where they started. Maybe not tomorrow or next week or next year. But sooner or later.

And sooner  _or_  later? Losing Amy again, like that, would fucking kill Reagan.

So, yeah. What's best it is.

Reagan's trying to focus on anything that  _isn't_  Amy and that's when she spots the folder on Amy's desk, the one with the giant CU logo emblazoned in gold on the front cover

_(a sexually confused girl who wants to go to college)_

and she's speaking before she has time to think, before her brain reminds her that this is forbidden territory, that this is the ground neither of them wants to walk again, not just yet.

"I'm sorry," she says and she can practically hear Amy's head snap up behind her.

"What?" Amy asks. "Sorry? For what?"

A lot of things, Reagan thinks, but  _says_  "Making you feel like you had to choose. Like what you were feeling or thinking or wanting… like you had to tell me what I wanted to hear even if it wasn't what  _you_  wanted to say."

Amy hops off the end of the bed and skirts her way around the pack pile. "Hey," she says, taking Reagan's hand and tugging the girl to her. "Come here."

Reagan lets herself be moved, lets Amy pull her in and wrap her arms around her. It's nothing like it was a minute ago with all the sexual tension and lust and raw need dripping all over the place.

Being in Amy's arms like this is so much  _better_.

Which makes it so much  _worse_.

"Don't apologize," Amy says. "Ever."

"But -"

Amy shakes her head and holds Reagan tighter

(and that helps so fucking much…)

"No buts," she says. "You said it yourself. Different places." She glances over the top of Reagan's head at the pile of clothes strewn about her room, at the half filled suitcase, at the bag of camera and video equipment her father sent her when she told him about the trip all those weeks ago.

When they were going together. Her and Reagan and the hotels and the doughnuts.

"Maybe," Amy says, "we ended up closer to the same place than we thought back then." She tips her head back so she can look Reagan in the eye. "But you were right to end it. And, for the record? You never made me feel anything  _but_  loved. Ever."

Reagan manages a weak smile and wipes at her tears with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she says again. "For being a mess, I mean." She smiles again and it's a little more real but a little more pained too. "Told you I had no idea how to get over you."

Amy nods. She knows the feeling. "I know," she says, "work in progress, right?"

"Yeah," Reagan says even as she wonders if either of them has made half as much progress as they think.

"So," Amy says, poking Reagan in the side. "About my clothes…"

* * *

"You cannot be fucking serious."

Amy glares at Reagan, standing in her closet, holding a shopping bag in one hand

(just a few things I picked up for you, she'd said)

and what Amy thinks is supposed to be a skirt

(if you're like eight)

in the other. "No," she says. "No fucking way."

"Amy," Reagan says. "You're going on tour. With a band. This isn't hiding under the covers watching Netflix with Karma or your grandmother's eightieth birthday."

The blonde's glare doesn't soften even a little. "I know where I'm going," she says. "On tour with 'Pussy Explosion'."

Which, she thinks, under the right circumstances could  _totally_  be her grandmother's eightieth birthday party.

Reagan cocks her hips slightly, letting the bag drop back down to her side. "About that," she says. "They changed their name."

_That_  wipes away Amy's glare. She's never been so relieved in her life. You try figuring out how to work 'pussy explosion' into the title of a documentary - one you're using to apply for college - and not have it sound… well…  _wrong._

On so. Many. Levels.

Reagan waits a moment, letting the relief set in, and then finishes. "They're the 'Dillholes' now."

Amy searches Reagan's face for a sign that she's kidding. A smile. A laugh behind the eyes.

Something.

_Anything_.

"You're serious?" she asks and Reagan nods. "Dillholes?" Another nod. "Who in the  _absolute fuck_  thought Dillholes was better than Pussy Explosion?"

And add that to the list of things Amy never thought she'd hear herself saying, right behind 'let's be lesbians'.

"They got a new lead singer," Reagan says, "who, apparently, was smart enough to know 'Pussy Explosion' was never getting a label but  _not_  smart enough to know that just because your name is Dillon that doesn't mean you have to work it into the band name."

"He sounds like an idiot," Amy says.

"Talent trumps everything, Amy," Reagan says. "And Dillion's got that in spades."

Amy arches an eyebrow, her consternation winning out over her usual desire to never show Reagan her less than fleek

(and she  _knows_  she's not using that right)

eyebrow game. "Guess I'll find out, huh?"

Reagan nods and then picks through the contents of the bag. She holds up another skirt - even shorter than the last - and a crop top for Amy's inspection.

"Reagan…"

"Amy…"

The blonde takes the clothes from Reagan's hand, holding them up to herself as she looks in the mirror. "I can't wear these," she says. "They're not me."

_I'm against you changing who you are to make someone else happy_

"Maybe not," Reagan says. "Or maybe they're not Austin Amy. Hester Amy. High school Amy."

_Karma's Amy_.

"But tour Amy?" Reagan shrugs. "College Amy?'

_Learning to fly Amy._

Amy's phone buzzes on the dresser and she glances down at it, frowning and shutting her eys for just a moment.

"Pack them," she says. "The first one and those other two tops you showed me. But not the really tiny one, OK?"

Reagan nods, moving to toss the clothes onto the pack pile but pausing. "You sure?"

Amy looks back at the phone. The words on the screen blinking back at her.

_I'm sorry._

_I'm so sorry, Amy. For all of it. Please talk to me. Don't make me come over there._

"Yeah," she says. "I'm sure."

* * *

Amy hasn't told Reagan about the pool kiss yet and really, she's got no good reason for that.

Reagan has a girlfriend, one she's happy with, one she's  _living_ with. And Amy's really happy for her.

Really.

And no, not telling Reagan about the kiss has nothing to do with the ache Amy feels every time she looks at her. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she's sure now, more than ever that she really had

(has)

( _had_ )

( _has and who the fuck are you kidding?)_

real feelings for her and she wasn't a bandaid or an escape or something she used to hide from her Karma feels.

She was happy with Reagan. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe not in a way that would ever last, at least not yet.

_maybe someday soon you'll be in that place and she'll be in that place and it will finally be…right._

And it has nothing to do with the way she hoped

( _hopes, and let's not go through_ this  _again, OK_?)

that Reagan seeing her in the doorway at 4am did  _something_  to her, made her wonder, even for just a moment….

Nope. It's got nothing to do with  _that_.

Her phone buzzes again and Amy doesn't even look at the screen. She knows what it says.

I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry I don't even know what I'm sorry for but I'm sorry.

She hasn't told Reagan about the kiss yet, and it has everything to do with  _that_.

"You're not gonna check that?" Reaga asks.

Amy shakes her head. "Not the call I'm waiting for," she says.

It's the call she's done waiting for.

Reagan side eyes her for a moment and then goes back to sorting through the clothes, trying to find a tour wardrobe that fits the girls Amy is  _and_  the one she's going to be.

"So…" she says, trying for a casual, it totally doesn't matter to me, I'm good with it all, really I am tone, "have you told Karma yet?"

Amy flinches, nearly dropping the light sensor she's examining, trying to remember her dad's email crash course on photography and the gear he sent.

"I'll take that as a no," Reagan says, tossing the doughnut shirt into the 'leave' pile.

Amy snatches it up and throws it back into the pack pile. "I haven't had a chance," she says, and that's not a total lie. "The party got pretty crazy and  _she_  got pretty crazy and I didn't want to say anything until I knew for sure what I was going to do."

"Do about what?"

Amy's eyes squeeze shut and the sensor slips from her hand but Reagan's close enough to catch it before it hits the floor, which is lucky because the sound of that voice -  _Karma's_  voice - has, apparently, rendered Amy paralyzed.

Which, really, is nothing new.

Karma's been paralyzing Amy for a while now.

"Amy? What's going on?" Karma's in the doorway, slowly turning to survey the mess - more than the usual mess - that is Amy's room. "What's all this? Are you packing for Clement already? We don't have to leave for a couple of weeks."

Reagan sets the sensor down on Amy's desk chair and stands up. "I'm just gonna give you two a minute," she says and her hurry to get out of the room has  _nothing_  to do with the way in which Karma is actively not acknowledging her presence.

She starts for the door but Amy's hand shoots out and catches hers, lacing their fingers together

(and  _that_  Karma notices)

and Amy holds her there. "Stay," she says, softly. "Please?"

Reagan glances at the door - at  _Karma_  - and then back down at Amy and really, she wants nothing more than to stay

(forever, maybe)

but then, that's what all this is about, isn't. Time and space and not staying locked in that place and that moment.

Reagan crouches down in front of Amy, slipping a finger under the younger girl's chin and tipping her head up.

" _You_  have to do this, Shrimps," she says - both of them catching, but ignoring, the way she slips up and uses Amy's nickname. " _You._ Remember?"

Amy nods, but she doesn't let go of Reagan's hand.

"I'll be just downstairs," Reagan says. "OK? I promise I'm not…" She swore she wasn't going to say it, but she can't fucking help it. "You know, Shrimps. No matter where I go?"

Amy nods again. "I know," she says. "You're never far."

Reagan smiles and kisses Amy on the cheek and really, she doesn't have even the smallest urge to let that kiss linger, to let it drift across Amy's skin until their lips meet and…

Yeah. Going downstairs. Right now. Yup. Totally going.

She pulls herself away. "Karma," she says, nodding at the other girl as she slips from the room, and she's not even a little bit surprised when the redhead closes the door behind her.

Or even when she hears the lock click.

* * *

"Why was Reagan here?"

Leave it to Karma to start an apology with judgment.

"Why are  _you_?" Amy replies, fidgeting with the camera bag in her lap and refusing to look up and not caring a whit if she's acting like a petulant nine-year-old.

"I'm your best friend," Karma says. "She's your ex. Who has a new girlfriend who probably wouldn't appreciate you two being all alone in your room or kissing…"

Amy grips the bag a little tighter. "It was on the cheek, Karma," she says.

( _Unlike yours_ , she doesn't say)

"And just so we're clear, we're not all you and Liam. Some of us can stay friends with ex's and not fuck them at every opportunity."

It is, maybe, a low blow.

OK. Not maybe. It is.

But Amy's pretty much fresh out of fucks to give. Her last one died last night.

It drowned.

Karma tenses, but she doesn't fire back. She knows Amy, knows how she'll say things sometimes, out of anger or sadness or just because the words find their way to her mouth. But, if you give her a minute, just let her brain catch up to her tongue, she'll realize she's wrong, she'll apologize.

"Did you need something?" Amy asks, still not even looking in Karma's direction.

Or maybe this Amy's not the apologizing kind.

"You weren't answering my texts or my calls," Karma says. "I was worried."

"Well, I'm fine," Amy says. "Just busy, so, you know, if there wasn't anything else…

And maybe this Amy's not the polite kind either.

"What's in the bag?" Karma asks, pointedly refusing to take the hint and nodding at the camera bag in Amy's lap.

"Camera gear," Amy says. "Video equipment. My dad sent it back when I told him I was going on tour with Reagan." Karma shuffles in place and Amy can tell that wasn't what she wanted to hear. "Problem with my dad sending me things?"

Karma shakes her head. "No," she says. "Of course not. It's just… why do you have it out? I doubt you'll need it much at Clement."

Amy leans up and collects the light sensor from the chair, packing it carefully back in its case and zipping up the bag so she can set it atop the pack pile.

She's suddenly very tired. Or, maybe, it's not so sudden. And maybe it's not tired.

Maybe, she thinks, it's been coming for a while. Maybe since the moment she kissed Karma in the gym. Or since her mother's wedding night or since she fucked Liam or met Reagan or since faking it again or prom or the day after or since  _last fucking night_.

Since the pool.

Maybe it's not sudden and maybe it's not tired and maybe - probably - it's not even Karma's fault, not all of it, but maybe, just maybe, Amy's just fucking over it.

"Sorry I didn't answer your messages," she says. "But I'm just in the middle of… stuff…

_(just fucking tell her_ )

so, you know, if that was all you wanted…"

"What I wanted" Karma says, "was to talk. I know we both said some things last night."

Said.

_Said._

Amy stands up and moves to the desk, sorting through some of the papers spread out all over it. Itineraries and maps and contact lists for dive bars, crappy clubs, and every juke joint from here to Oklahoma.

Her summer on loose leaf.

"Amy?" Karma steps closer, carefully navigating between the piles of clothes, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the shirt and top resting atop one pile. "Amy? Talk to me? Please?"

The Clement University folder catches Amy's eye.

_I'm sorry. For making you feel like you had to tell me what I wanted to hear even if it wasn't what you wanted to say._

_You wanted this_ yesterday.

Fuck. Irony can be a bitch.

"Amy?"

She wants to say it, really she does. The words are there, right on her tongue, but her mouth is dry and her eyes  _aren't_  and really, fucking  _really_ , she just can't.

So she does the next best thing.

She slides the folder off the desk and reaches over the chair, dropping it soundly in the trash.

Irony can be a bitch.

And, apparently,  _this_ Amy can be one too.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, a while ago, someone on tumblr nicknamed me the Reamy General because of Just For Me and the amount of Karmy shippers that tried to get under my skin. And, obviously, tonight the Reamy ship kinda... well... sank. I'm enough of a dork that I've read the spoilers, including the leaked scripts, and I'm enough of a writer that I saw that coming and even, I think, a lot of what else is coming. (and yes, the episodes leaked, and no I haven't watched but I saw some spoilers for tonight, but I think I've got some fairly educated guesses - and it isn't like Carter is known for being subtle). And along the way I realized I'm as much an Amy shipper as a Reamy one. She's the one I identify with and want to be happy (and no, I don't think that's with Karma and don't ask) so I figured I'd play around with making an Amy centered story that shows what might happen to her now. And Work in Progress was born and got some very nice feedback so I decided o continue it. This isn't the last chapter, or even the last one I already have written. And yeah, Reagan's still around, but it's NOT Reamy and Amy's going to meet some new folks and find some new relationships. JFM and Giants and Bartender will still go on and will still be Reamy. This won't. Just so you're warned :)


	3. Already Gone

Amy quickly discovers the major difference between the girl she was - and, really, still is - and  _this_ Amy.

This Amy can be a bitch. This Amy can throw the Clement University folder in the trash right in front of Karma.

That's not the difference.

Amy knows herself well enough to know that being a bitch is not something  _entirely_  new for her, it's not like she's  _never_  lashed out at people when she's mad.

Croquembouche, anyone?

(Liam Booker, anyone?)

Being a bitch is not an exclusive trait of this Amy, of work-in-progress Amy. Old Amy had her bitch moments. And this Amy is  _still_  that Amy and that means this Amy - just like that Amy - feels bad about it. There's that immediate regret, that instantaneous sense of 'oh, shit' and that desperate need to fix it, to find a way to take it all back.

Old Amy would snatch that folder out of the trash, play it off as a joke, and spend the next four hours letting Karma plan - in excruciating detail - every moment of their summer.

This Amy doesn't move. She doesn't speak, she barely even looks as Karma dashes across the room, asking "What are you  _doing_?" as she makes a beeline for the trash, for the folder, for their summer together that isn't going to happen.

This Amy feels bad. Just not bad  _enough_.

Amy hears it all in Karma's voice. It isn't the actual question she hears - Amy learned long ago that reading Karma is more about the sound than the words - and it's all right there. The way the words spill out of her mouth in a rush, the way her voice skips up an octave and tightropes its way along the line between shock and confusion

(and not just a little bit of anger)

and the wave of fear that ripples through each word. Amy hears it all and she knows what it is, what it means. It's their friendship teetering on the edge - not that it hasn't been there before, not that it hasn't seemingly been there forever lately - and she knows what Karma's doing, why she's reaching for that folder.

It's not the folder.

It's Amy's hand.

Old Amy would reach out and take it, would let Karma pull her back from the edge because that's what Karma does - what she's always done - for her. Karma's the one who reigns her in, the one who pulls her back from going too far, the one who keeps her from blowing up a pageant or roofie-ing a drink. She's the yin to Amy's yang

(the salt to her pepper, the Lucy to her Ethel)

and  _that's_  why this Amy really? Has no choice.

"Leave it," she says and Karma freezes, her hand just above the trash can and if Amy heard it all in Karma's voice then, yeah, Karma hears it all now. It's in the tone, the bark, the fucking  _order_  Amy's dropping and  _that's_  something new and if, maybe, it stirs something in Karma

(besides confusion and fear)

well, she's going to ignore the hell out of  _that_  for right now, because right now all she can manage is "What?"

"I said leave it," Amy repeats and her voice is softer and she's not commanding now but still, there's that tone, that undercurrent of something that just isn't Amy - or hasn't been - and it's enough. Enough to make Karma do as she's told, to make her straighten up and lean against Amy's wall, leaving the folder where it is.

"Amy?"

It's only a word - it's only her  _name_  - but Amy hears the thousand more words behind it, the thousand and one questions Karma has

(and maybe, the one answer Amy  _needs_ )

and she hears the one question Karma wants to ask, but won't, because she's too afraid that she already knows the answer and hearing it, actually hearing Amy say the words, will make it real and Karma's not sure

(no, she's  _sure_ , absolutely fucking positive)

that she can handle  _that_. So she doesn't ask. She just says "Amy?" and hopes her best friend, the girl she's always known, won't say it.

"I'm not going," Amy says and Karma takes a small step forward, reaching out a hand but when Amy's eyes flick to it, something in her gaze makes Karma pull back, yanking her hand away like she's been burned.

"You're not going," Karma repeats. "You're not going with me this summer?"

Amy shakes her head, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk, the sensation of the wood against her skin rooting her in place.

"I'm not going with you to Clement," she says. "Not now. And maybe not ever."

* * *

There are things Amy remembers.

There are moments she remembers, little bits and pieces of everything that happened since the moment she said 'let's be lesbians'. There are things she hasn't - or can't - bury away somewhere, some place deep down where she doesn't have to relive them.

They're not the kisses. They're not the feel of Karma in her arms at the dance, or crawling toward her in the quad, or the sight of her in her threesome lingerie. They're not the way Karma threw herself on the mercy of the school to get Amy to forgive her for the 'sex addict' bullshit and they're not the way Karma serenaded her the night after the wedding, trying so hard to win her back when she'd never lost her to begin with.

They're the pain.

There are things Amy remembers, things that are burned into her mind with such heat she knows they'll never come out, not in a month or a year or even when she's old and frail and long past giving a fuck who Liam Booker was or is.

(which, truthfully, could describe  _now_  fairly well, too)

They're the night of the wedding. They're the morning after. They're the ' _she knows'_  morning and the afternoon in the Hester basement.

They're the night she 'gave' Karma to Liam.

It isn't the giving she remembers, not really. She's done her absolute best to forget  _that_ , to block her whole self-sacrificing speech from her mind, to forget talking about how crazy the two of them were for each other.

And, for fuck's sake, to  _never_  remember 'if you love something…'

None of that is what she remembers.

Amy remembers the rest of it. The rest of that night, after Karma had come and gone and they'd shared the final moments of her birthday together. She remembers, all too well, how she spent the rest of that night.

She remembers crying into her pillow and wondering, out loud, what the hell she'd done. She remembers wanting to take it all back, every fucking bit, not just letting  _him_  have her, but the whole day. Every stupid scavenger hunt moment, every blatantly obvious to anyone but Karma attempt she made to show her, to get Karma to see what Amy just couldn't say anymore.

_I love you_.

Amy remembers curling up in her bed with her phone clutched between her hands, her fingers dancing over the keys. She tapped out unsent text after unsent text that night, every one of them saying the same thing in every different way she could think of.

_I'm a fool._

_I was lying. I just said it for you. I didn't mean it._

_I can't stand you with him._

_Please, Karma._

_Please..._

It was, Amy remembers, the 'please' that did it, every fucking time. Just when she thought she couldn't cry anymore, when she thought it was finally done and she could just fucking sleep…

She'd see that word blinking back at her.

_Please._

Please, Karma. Please. Do the impossible, Karma. Feel something you don't Karma. Forget him. See  _me_. Really fucking see me and know. Know what we could have, what we could  _be_.

See me, Karma. Take a chance with me, Karma.

Love me, Karma.

_Please._

There's an irrationality that Amy knows, that she understands can come over you. It's the four in the morning meltdown, the 'I'm still awake and desperately waiting' moment. Waiting for the phone to ring, for a text to come, for a knock on the door, for someone's arms around you, someone's words whispered in your ear.

_You're not alone_.

It's that irrationality, Amy remembers, that comes from losing something you know could never  _really_  be. Something that never stood a chance, that you never really had but you still feel the loss of it so fucking deep, in places and parts of you that you swear must be your soul.

It shouldn't hurt. Amy knows that. Amy  _knew_  that. It shouldn't tear at your heart, it shouldn't make your stomach burn until you can't breathe.

It  _shouldn't_.

It shouldn't because you -  _she_  - didn't really lose anything because you can't lose something that, really, is nothing but a lie. Something that was never there, was never real, that only existed in your mind and your dreams and that part of your heart you never let anyone see.

It shouldn't hurt. It  _shouldn't_.

But it did. God it so did.

It so  _does_.

Amy remembers  _that_. She remembers it from the night she 'gave' Karma to Liam. She remembers it from the night  _after_  the night she slept with him.

She remembers it from last night. From the moment the lights came on and Karma pulled away and gave Liam - and everyone else - that 'oops, I did it again' smile and laugh and left Amy there in the pool.

There are things Amy remembers. Moments.

"Ever?" Karma asks and Amy can hear - can literally fucking  _hear_  - her best friend's heart breaking. "Maybe not ever?"

There are things Amy remembers. Moments.

Like this one.

* * *

Amy doesn't look at Karma. She  _can't_.

This Amy can be a bitch, but even she has her limits.

She stares at her wall, at a tiny little dot in the paint. It's a spot, far off on the horizon. A ship, a plane

(a bus)

fading into the distance, falling from view and - no matter the assurances, no matter the promises, no matter the plans - Amy knows.

When it fades? When it's gone and it isn't even that spot anymore?

No one's ever quite sure it's really coming back.

Karma's not saying anything and it's the silence, that's what's slowly killing Amy. It's the death of it, the quiet, the empty spaces between each breath and the fucking pain that seeps into them, slowly weighing them both down until Amy's afraid they just might drown.

It's enough - almost - to make her take it all back. She could do it. She could yank the folder from the trash and spread it all over the bed. They could go through it together, piece by piece.

Amy can see it…

" _This is where we're going to stay," Karma says, pointing at a cluster of brown blobs that stand for buildings on the campus map. "These are the dorms they use for the summer program and this is the best one because it's co-ed." She bumps her hip against Amy's. "Some for me, some for you!" she says, cracking up at how ridiculous and dirty she's managed to make the whole thing seem._

_Amy smiles and rolls her eyes._

" _Classes are here," Karma says, pointing at some blobs on the far end of campus before quickly moving on to the map of the city as a whole because, let's face it, summers ain't for learning, right?_

_Amy watches as Karma takes her on a blob-by-blob tour of New Orleans, her finger tracing a slow path across the city. She skips over the places they can't get into, lingers on spots that she's already decided will be_ theirs -  _the ones where everyone will know their names - and, of course…_

" _Bourbon Street," Karma says. "And the Mardi Gras parades. They're not during the summer, obviously, but there's so many routes and we need to scope them out, find the best spots."_

_Amy laughs. "You just want to find the best place for beads."_

_Karma slugs her in the arm and laughs. "I_ do not _," she insists, but she pauses, finger stalled on the map. "I could totally get the most though."_

_Amy laughs again and nods, knowing that Karma could - she'd have a plan, naturally - and even if she didn't, Amy would find a way._

_She'd find a way to get Karma what she wants._

_That's what she does._

Amy can see it all, all of it spiraling out from that dot in the paint. She's gone over and over and over the Clement website through the years, she knows it all by heart and she can picture them - her and Karma - all across that campus, all over that city.

Karma, Amy knows, would revel in it. Not  _just_  the beads and the parties and Bourbon Street, but all of it. The new place. The new city. New school, new friends, new world where no one knows her and there's no pot selling parents, no living in a juice truck, no Liam Booker, no faking it.

There's just… her.

And Amy.

And there's always  _that_ , isn't there. 'And Amy.'

Sometimes, even if she never admits it, even if she's never said it out loud - not even to Reagan - and even if she barely lets herself think it, Amy wonders.

When did that become her name?

'And Amy.'

When did that become  _her_?

Karma could be anyone. Clement and New Orleans would be a reinvention for her and maybe she'd finally be able to see the person she  _is_  - the one Amy's seen all along - and not the imperfect, unlovable, could always be better version she sees in the mirror. Karma could be anyone, she could be happy, she could be perfect.

And Amy

(and there it is again)

could give that to her. All she has to do is pick up the folder, wave Karma over to the bed, yell downstairs for Reagan to leave, and dive onto the bed next to her best friend, giggling and laughing and planning the first step in their future together.

Karma and Amy.

Karma. And Amy.

Together. Except… not.

All she has to do is pick up the folder.

_You can't lose yourself to keep her_

Amy turns and shuffles across the room, sliding down against the edge of the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest, Karma's question echoing in her mind.

_Maybe not ever?_

"Maybe not," she says. "Maybe not."

* * *

"Amy?" Karma's panicking now, which is really only one Defcon step up from where she started. "What's going on, why are you doing this, what the  _hell_  has gotten - "

"You remembered it, didn't you?"

Karma full-stops in mid rant, her protestations catching in her throat. She pulls back and chews on her lip.

You remembered it, didn't you?

She should have seen this coming, she had to be stupid - or distracted - not to. She should have, but she didn't, and now she's here and she has no fucking idea what to say because every answer seems wrong, every answer is like a loaded gun ready to go off in her face.

"Amy…"

Karma can see it in the way Amt's hands clench into fists on her knees.

Wrong fucking answer.

"Liam texted me," Amy says and she's not surprised - she's not much of anything, really - at the way Karma's face clenches at the name, at the idea of Liam Booker and Amy Raudenfeld having anything to do with each other, even now, even after apology on top of apology on top of apology and all their work and all their tears.

Amy figures she probably deserves that look. It's probably less than she deserves, really.

"He texted me," she continues, "because he ran into you on campus."

"I was looking for you," Karma says. "I didn't know you were home… packing."

Classic Karma. A little redirection.

Too bad Amy's not in the mood to be steered.

"He thought I should know," Amy says. "He thought it was important that I know that you told him you had no memory of kissing me last night."

She can see the anger flaring behind Karma's eyes - Liam  _fucking_  Booker - and she doesn't blame her, not really. Amy's still not sure if Liam did it because he thought he was being a friend

(yeah, right)

or to make himself feel a little better, or just to fuck with both of them.

She is sure that she doesn't really care. Not even a little.

"Amy…"

Amy talks right over her. "But that isn't true, is it?" she asks. "You remembered it, didn't you? Even before he said anything. You remembered."

Karma starts to speak, but she's got… nothing.

Amy's phone buzzes in her lap, the screen lighting up with the message she's been waiting for.

_Croquembouche Queen: On my way home. Need you._

She taps out a quick reply without looking up, without even acknowledging Karma's still in the room.

"You lied to Liam," Amy says. "And really,  _that_ shouldn't shock anyone, should it?"

Karma doesn't reply, doesn't try to fire back because, really, what's she going to say?

"I get it," Amy says. "You lied to him for the same reason you always do. To make him feel better, to stroke his ego cause, let's face it, Liam is  _all_  fucking ego, especially when it comes to me."

Karma nods, relieved that here - at last - is something she can say. "He's always felt secondary," she says. "Even when we were faking it."

"You," Amy says.

"Me?"

Amy nods. "You," she says again. "When  _you_  were faking it."

It's the first moment, right then, when Karma really believes this isn't going to end well.

"You lied to Liam, but you haven't lied to me," Amy says. "Not yet. So I'm going to ask you something, Karma. And I need the truth."

"OK," Karma says even though she's quite sure it's anything  _but_  OK.

"Was it revenge?

Karma blinks. Wait… She blinks again. "What?"

"Revenge," Amy says. "Was kissing me revenge for sleeping with Liam? Did you do it to get back at me?"

"No." There's a hint of anger - more than a hint, really - behind Karma's voice. "How could you even think that?"

Amy shrugs. "Seemed more logical than the alternatives," she says. "And really, I don't know what to think anymore, Karma. I don't have the first fucking clue."

Karma slumps against the wall, the anger drained out of her as fast as it came. "I don't… I don't know what to think, either."

Amy's eyes snap up and Karma knows that somehow, she's managed to say the wrong thing again.

"You don't know?  _You_?" Amy's hands, which had only just released, curl into fists again in her lap. "I've had it drummed into my head from you, your mother,  _my_  mother, even fucking Reagan, that you are not even the teeniest, tiniest bit  _not_  straight. And then you -  _you_  - fucking kissed me. And not just a little kiss, Karma. A full on 'let's make out in the pool, here do you like the taste of my tongue' kiss."

Karma remembers.

"And  _you_ don't know what to think?" Amy glares at her. "You don't get to be confused here, Karma. That's  _me_."

"So, what?" Karma snaps. She's never been good at getting called on the carpet and now is no different. "So, in your confusion you just ran back to Reagan? Because you don't know so you just decided to become this other person, this other Amy that I don't even know and just throw away our summer together? Our  _dream_?"

" _Your_ dream."

Karma has the urge to find her fucking Squirkle tablet and show Amy that video again. "You wanted it as much as -"

"I wanted  _you!_ "

They both freeze and Amy's pretty sure Reagan - and the neighbors and everyone within a five block radius - heard that.

"I wanted you," she says and it's almost a whisper. "And last night, for about ten seconds, I got to have you. No faking it. Not audience. No pretense, no bullshit, no Liam fucking Booker."

Karma stares at the floor. Would it be too much, she wonders, for it to open up and swallow her whole?

"And then," Amy says, "the lights came back on." Her phone buzzes again but she ignores it, knowing it's just Reagan checking on her. "And in the light… it was so fucking obvious. I was something you were ashamed of, again. Something you had to smile and pass of as a joke and lie to Liam about."

Karma starts forward but Amy pushes back against the bed, scrambling to her feet and Karma stops. Watching Amy like that, scared, hurt, terrified of even her slightest touch…

It fucking  _kills_  her.

"I can't, Karma. I just… can't," Amy says. "I don't know how you feel, fuck, I don't even know if  _you_  know. But, honestly? I can't."

"Can't what?"

Amy shrugs. "Can't wait. Can't hold on. Can't… do  _this_  anymore." She waves her hand between them and Karma's heart breaks a little more.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry I kissed you and I don't mean it like  _that_ , it's just… everything has been so fucked up. And don't you see? Don't you get it, Amy?" Karma takes on halting step toward her and stops. " _This_  is our chance. Our chance to fix it. To forget the rest and just get back to Karma and Amy."

And there it is. Again.

"Clement and the summer together is our chance to get back on track," Karma says.

"Can't  _you_  see?" Amy snaps. "I don't  _want_  to get back on track. The track is just a fucking loop that keeps running the damn train straight through my heart over and over again. And I can't do it anymore, Karma. Not even for you."

There's voices downstairs - Lauren's home - and Karma's last bit of self control is gone.

"But you can do it for  _her_ , can't you?" She storms over to the desk, grabbing up the papers and waving them at Amy. "That's what this is, right? You're not going with me but you are going with Reagan?"

It would be easy, Amy knows, to point out the simple truth. Reagan's staying home with Nicole.

She doesn't say a word.

" _This_  is your solution, Amy?" Karma throws the papers back on the desk. "We hit a little bump and you're going to do what? Spend a summer with the girl who couldn't accept you, pretending to be something you're not?"

"I don't pretend to be gay, Karma," Amy says. "That would be you."

"You're not  _gay!"_ Karma yells, slamming her fist into the desk.

"So you keep telling me," Amy says. "But how can  _you_  be so sure when  _I'm_ not? When I don't know what the fuck I am or who the fuck I want or much of anything else?"

Karma holds her fist in her other hand, trying her damndest to ignore the pain. "Fine," she says. "Maybe you are. Maybe you aren't. Maybe at the end of your journey you'll be as lesbian as lesbian gets. But now? Right now? That's not you. And I told you. You can't change who you are for someone else."

Amy leans against the bed. "That's not what I'll be doing," Amy says. "That's what I  _would_  be doing. If I went with you."

"What?"

"You just can't see it, can you?" Amy asks. "I love Reagan. I  _love_  her. But for fuck's sake, Karma…  _it's you_. It's  _always_  been you. And every single time I think I'm finally over it, finally free of it -"

"I pull you back in?" Karma asks. "Is that it? It's all me?"

"No," Amy says, shaking her head emphatically. "It's  _me_. It's me every fucking time. I can't say no. I can't walk away. I can't give you up even if it fucking kills me."

"Amy-"

Amy hold up a hand. "Stop. Please," she says. "You told me I couldn't lose myself to keep Reagan. But you don't see it. I'm losing myself every day, bit by fucking bit and it isn't even to keep you." Amy runs a hand through her hair and tries to will herself not to cry. "You can't keep what you've never had."

"You have me, Amy." Karma tries to go to her, arms open, wanting nothing more than to hold her and tell her it will be all right and then  _make_  it all right.

But the way Amy backpedals, the way she practically races to the door?

Karma knows there's nothing she can do.

"I don't," Amy says. "Not the way I want to. And I never will and that is  _not_  your fault."

Karma's not so sure. The pit in her stomach and the ache in her heart say different.

"I love you Karma, I do," Amy says. "And I want it all, everything we talked about, everything we planned."

"But?"

There's  _always_ a but.

"But I can't," Amy says. "Not like this. I can't go with you, I can't spend every day with you and not hold you and kiss you and… I can't be Karma. And Amy. anymore. "

Karma nods but they both know she doesn't mean it, she doesn't understand it, she doesn't… she just  _doesn't._

"I can't go with you, Karma."

Karma nods, again, but says "What if this is it? What if this is the beginning of the end?" She takes a couple steps forward, her heart leaping when Amy doesn't move further away. "Amy, what if this is thing we can't come back from?"

Amy stands by the door, spotting Lauren coming up the stairs. "That's what I'm trying to tell you," she says. "If I don't go? It  _will_  be."

Karma tries to argue, tries to fight.

But the door swings shut. Amy's already gone.


	4. And Yet...

_**A/N:  One step closer to Amy leaving.  And Karma and Reagan's next to last scene in the story, at least for a while.  Enjoy them while you can!** _

 

The moment Amy sees Lauren, she knows it's all over.

Lauren looks like she feels, like the world has somehow spent the entire day conspiring to pour kerosene on all her bridges and every word out of her mouth is another match. Amy knows that's… well… not necessarily a  _good_  thing, but it is a necessary one, maybe the only thing that will make more good things possible.

Some bridges need to be burned so they can be rebuilt stronger and better and actually going somewhere. It needs to be.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Lauren's sad and broken and not doing  _anything_  and Amy doesn't know what the hell to make of that, much less what to do about it. This isn't the Lauren she's used to. Even after her breakup with Theo and accidental outing, Lauren held it together. She was angry, she was fierce. And yeah, Amy knew there was sadness under there - how could there not be - but  _that_  Lauren never let it show.

That Lauren focused on winning the election - kicking Shane's ass in the process - and, as Amy and Shane eventually discovered, getting revenge on Theo. Not exactly the healthiest of choice, Amy knew, but she was far from being in a position to judge.

That was  _that_  Lauren, but  _this_ Lauren

(and Amy can't help wondering when she started thinking of everyone as this and that versions of themselves and how the hell they've all changed so much in such a short time)

well, this Lauren is different. Amy's not quite sure of it's good different or bad different but it's fucking  _weird_  different and she just doesn't know what to do with that.

Lauren's huddled at the head of her bed, both her blankets pulled tight under her chin. The only bits of her Amy can actually see are her eyes and a few blonde hairs sticking out from under her hoodie.

The wardrobe - and the fact that Lauren wore it  _outside_  the house - is enough of a clue but, really, it's her eyes that do it, that tell Amy that her talk with Bruce went about as badly as they both figured it would. It's the way her eyes dart around the room, looking anywhere and everywhere but at her

(it's  _her_  fault, after all) (her and her cheating mother and her 'let me wander into town and fuck everything up' father)

and it's the way they're rimmed red, like Lauren's been crying, which isn't a surprise, not really, but it does make Amy think that she can't remember if she's ever actually seen her step-sister cry. Amy  _knows_ Lauren's cried, she doesn't think Lauren's some kind of emotionless evil robot

(not  _anymore_ )

but she's never  _seen_  it. Lauren crying is like Bigfoot or Nessie or Liam not being a massively hypocritical tool. You've just gotta take it on faith.

She settles on the edge of Lauren's bed, the side closest to the door - even now, Amy knows, with Lauren, it's always best to be ready for a quick getaway - and keeps one foot planted firmly on the floor.

"So…" she says, totally clueless as to how to even broach the subject

(how exactly do you ask if your step-sister - who's liked you for like five minutes - managed to convince her father not to dump your adulterous mother?)

(is there a Hallmark card for that?)

and even though it was  _Lauren_  who texted  _her_

( _need you_ )

that really doesn't make any of this easier because now, on top of it all, Amy has to deal with 'need you' Lauren, which is like an entirely new species Amy didn't even know existed.

"So…" she says again. And then she just blurts, because, let's face it, that's what this or that or any Amy does. "I broke up with Karma."

It is, Amy knows immediately, even before the oh so Lauren glare that comes her way, the absolute wrong thing to say. Lauren's worried and crying and trying to save their family and she's talking about Karma. Again.

"I didn't mean... " Amy sighs and shakes her head. "I mean,  _technically_ we didn't break up cause, I  _know_ , you have to be  _with_  someone to break up with them and, pool kisses notwithstanding, Karma and I weren't ever really…"

She grips Lauren's comforter in one hand and runs the other through her hair, leaning her her forehead against her palm.

"I'm sorry," she says. "It just happened like five minutes ago and… you ever have one of those days when you just keep saying the wrong thing… well… the  _right_  thing, but in the wrong way, like you know you could put it so much better but it just comes out and -"

She's silenced by the feel of Lauren's hand on hers atop the comforter.

Lauren's hand. On hers.

And if Amy can't remember ever seeing Lauren cry, she  _knows_  she can't think of a single time they've touched, not in a comforting sense, not in a… friend kind of way, not in a  _sisterly_ way.

She glances from her hand to her sister's face

(and yes, she knows she dropped the 'step' and she doesn't know why, but it feels… not wrong?)

and Lauren's glare has softened - somewhat - and there's something behind the still red and still flickering around the room eyes that Amy can't quite place.

"Breathe," Lauren says, giving Amy's hand the gentlest of squeezes and Amy does, one long slow in and out and she feels her heart rate slowing and the room seems less cramped and closed in.

But it's still so fucking  _weird_.

"Better?" Lauren asks and Amy nods. "You OK? You know, with the Karma break up and all." She catches sight of their hands on the blanket and pulls back. "Not that I care…" But then she frowns and shakes her head, deciding something as the hoodie slips back, and she reaches out to take Amy's hand again. "Fuck it," she mutters under her breath. "You OK?"

Amy nods then shakes her head and finally just shrugs. "Work in progress," she says.

Lauren nods. She gets  _that_. Sometimes she thinks that's all she is. A work in progress though she wishes the progress would hurry the fuck up.

"I broke up with Theo," she says and her eyes slow down, staring down at the bed but Amy can see her watching her out of the corner and can see the way the muscles in her arms tense, ready to pull back.

It reminds Amy of the Lauren she first met, of the tiny - in  _every_  way - nervous, insecure, and shy

(yes,  _Lauren_ )

girl she met at the most awkwardly staged Red Lobster dinner in the history of 'guess what girls, you're getting a new sister' dinners. That Lauren hadn't actively disliked her or gone out of her way to be a condescending and judgmental bitch, or even looked down on Amy like she was the unfortunate tag along.

Buy a Farrah, get an Amy free. Whether you want her or not.

That Lauren had looked at Amy with sympathy, or something close to it, with a look that said 'you poor girl' and eyes that spoke with experience, the look of someone who'd been down this road before and knew what was coming.

It had taken a little longer than either of them expected, but what had been coming had finally shown up.

"When? How? What?" Amy stammers and Lauren cocks her head slightly and Amy takes another breath. "What I mean is, I thought you went to talk to your dad about, you know, my mother and I didn't even know you and Theo were…"

She scoots fully up onto the bed, crossing her legs underneath her

(screw getaways)

never once letting her hand leave Lauren's.

"What happened?" she asks and Lauren eyes her for a moment, like she's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Amy's door slams shut in the hallway, the sound of Karma's feet hurrying down the stairs echoing in the quiet.

Shoe dropped.

"You can go," Lauren says, nodding in the direction of the hall. "I'll be -"

Amy shuffles a little on the bed - moving  _closer_ , which is the wrong fucking direction - and flips her hand over underneath Lauren's, lacing their fingers together.

"What happened?" she repeats.

It's the first time that day - maybe the first time in a while - Amy thinks she gets it right. The right thing, the right time, the right way.

And as Lauren dissolves into sobs and crawls from under the blanket falling into Amy's arms. the front door slams in the distance.

Amy just holds Lauren tighter.

* * *

She's not coming back.

It's all Karma can think and though she means  _now_ \- Amy's not coming back to the room, she's not coming back to finish their talk

(Amy's talk is  _done_ )

she knows, really, she means then. Later. Forever.

She's not coming back.

Amy's going to leave, she's going to go on this tour with the Exploding Pussies or whatever the fuck their name is

(and Reagan) (can't forget Reagan)

(God, she'd  _love_  to)

and she's not coming back. And that's it, in a nutshell, isn't it? Karma knows Amy will come back, she'll be back in Austin by the end of the summer, by the time school starts up again.

But  _she_  won't be back.

Her Amy.

And after everything, after faking it and Liam and Amy  _and_ Liam and the pot bust and living in a juice truck and prom and the party and  _just fucking everything_ , the thought that  _she_ isn't coming back is just a little too much for Karma to take.

So she runs.

She almost doesn't though. She walks through Amy's door, letting it slam shut behind her and waits. The noise should do it. The sound of her upset and her anger and her  _leaving_  should bring Amy running. She's only talking to Lauren and yeah, they've gotten closer and yeah (again) this whole thing with their parents is a big deal.

(Though, really, how big a deal can it be? It's not like Amy hasn't been through this before)

(Karma would know. She's been here for every marriage, every divorce, every Farrah fuck up.)

But Amy doesn't come. Amy doesn't step out of Lauren's room to finish this. Amy doesn't text her to say she'll be right back

(Karma checks)

(Twice)

and she doesn't holler from behind the door to just wait a minute and she doesn't even stick her head out to promise they'll talk later and that somehow, someway, they'll work all this out because they're them and that's what they do.

Karma stands in the hall. Alone.

And what was that about being more than she can take?

She bolts down the stairs and out the front door, the words 'it'll be fine' running on an endless loop in her head.

It'll be fine. Amy will call.

It'll be fine. Amy will text.

It'll be fine. Amy will calm down. Amy will realize the kiss was just a drunken mistake.

(Because that's all it  _could_  be)

Amy will realize the three months is too fucking long and their friendship, teetering on the edge of a fucking cliff since  _she_  slept with Liam

(yeah, because  _that's_  the only issue)

is too important and they need this time, just the two of them. No Shane. No Lauren. No Liam. No…

Reagan.

She's sitting there reclining on the front step with a Coke in one hand and her cell in the other

(no doubt texting her  _girlfriend_ , the one she seems to conveniently forget, like Amy's so much more important than the person she's really dating and who does  _that_?)

(oh)

and really, Karma wonders, doesn't Reagan know a damn thing about being an ex? Exes aren't around, exes aren't in your room helping you pack so they can steal you away for an entire summer.

And exes sure as hell aren't kissing you - not even on the cheek - with that thirsty look in their eyes, like they'd be perfectly happy to fuck you right then and there on the floor of your room even if your  _lifelong_  best friend is still standing  _right fucking there_.

She's just sitting there, on the step, like she fucking belongs and she's - basically - right in Karma's way.

Something about turnabout being fair play runs through Karma's mind but she ignores the  _fuck_  out of that and thinks about saying something, about cursing Reagan for not minding her own damn business. About calling her on exactly what she's done.

Finally got what you wanted, didn't you?

Three months on a bus. Three months in hotels and late night diner and sweaty clubs and you'll have Amy singing 'I'm a lesbian' from every street corner.

Who gives a fuck if that's what Amy actually wants or what Amy actually  _is._  Amy will do anything for someone she loves.

Anything, apparently, except stay.

The anger bubbles up in Karma but common sense and maybe, just maybe, a slight sense of fear

(this  _is_ the woman who roofied Liam's father)

wins out. Besides, Amy's still upstairs and Karma still has hope - faint though it is - that Amy is going to come to her senses. That, given a little time and space

(things Reagan apparently has never heard of)

Amy will calm down and decide, if not to go to Clement, than at least to stay.

Blowing up at Reagan within earshot of Amy isn't going to help her cause and Karma knows it and, for once, she lets reason win out and takes a couple quick steps around the older girl and heads for the sidewalk, her mind racing with every single grand gesture she can make - in case time and space don't work - everything she can do to make Amy stay.

(And if every one of them is, at least, vaguely romantic, well Karma will just deal with  _that_  later.)

She almost makes it, almost gets away unscathed, but really, who is she kidding? They're all well past 'scathed', all just hoping it doesn't leave scars now.

But Reagan… well… Reagan just can't let it be.

"You need to let her go," she says, stopping Karma in her tracks.

Reagan takes a long sip from her Coke and a deep breath. She shouldn't have said it, she knows that and really, if she's being honest, this ain't her fight anymore.

But since when has that ever stopped her.

"If you love her, Karma. However that might be… you need to let her go."

For Reagan, that's that.

Karma turns on the spot, eyes blazing and Reagan knows that isn't going to be just that.

Which, honestly, is fine with her.

It might not be her fight anymore, but all that means is she's got nothing left to lose and a whole lot to say.

* * *

"This is insane."

Amy stops rifling through the row of perfectly tailored blouses in Lauren's closet - making a mental note that they're going to need a shopping trip tonight because Lauren's wardrobe is even more of a tour fail than her own - just long enough to fix her sister with a quizzical and somewhat amused look.

"This?" Amy asks. "This is what you consider insane?"

Lauren nods resolutely. Her tears have dried and she's done talking about Theo

("I didn't want to be a secret anymore.")

("He didn't agree")

and her failed attempts to convince Bruce to not move ahead with the divorce, the attempts she and Amy both knew were DOA even before she tried. And she's done worrying about having to move back to Dallas and how she might actually - surprisingly - miss Amy and Leila and Lisbeth and even  _Shane_.

She stands next to her bed, clutching a pair of sleep shorts that she normally wouldn't be caught dead in, but Amy insists are far more practical, and considers - for about the hundredth time - the idea

(the insane yet oddly brilliant idea)

that she go with Amy on tour.

"Yes," Lauren says. " _Insane_."

Amy smiles at her - and it's more of a smirk, really - the challenge dancing behind her eyes and Lauren knows she's going to lose. "Going on tour is insane?" Amy asks. "You  _dated_ an undercover cop."

"You  _punched_  an undercover cop," Lauren fires back.

"Karma's parents got busted for pot."

"And you went to jail to try and save your overly co-dependent friendship with an alleged drug dealer." Point, Cooper.

"You faked being a cheerleader to out your ex the narc."

"You almost had a threesome with Liam Booker!" Amy can't possibly beat  _that_.

"You almost slept with Tommy!"

OK, maybe she can.

They both stop and stare at each other for a moment, the realization settling in is something of a crushing blow.

"Our lives," Lauren says, "are  _fucked up_."

Amy nods. "It's like everything that happens to us is being written by a bunch of monkeys just throwing shit at a wall."

Lauren nods and points at Amy. " _Exactly_! None of it is normal. It's like we never go to class, and we're sixteen and everyone's having threesomes and everything's gotta be… EPIC!"

She sits down on the edge of her bed, balling the sleep shorts up in her hand.

"I think we need new writers," Amy says.

Lauren nods. "I'm tired of epic," she says. "I need… a break. Something that isn't torturous and painful and one damned angst fest life changing moment after another." She looks down at the sleep shorts in her hand. "I'm going on tour with Exploding Pussies, aren't I?"

Amy brings a hand to her mouth to try and cover her giggles, but fails miserably. "First of all," she says, trying to squash the laughter enough to be clear. "It was Pussy Explosion,  _not_  Exploding Pussies."

Lauren glares at her, but Amy's not buying it. The twitching corners of her mouth don't lie.

"And second of all," Amy continues, her laugh finally subsiding. "They changed their name. They're the Dillholes, now."

Lauren arches an eyebrow

(and seriously, can  _everyone_  other than Amy do that?)

and asks the obvious question. "Who the  _fuck_  thought Dillholes was better than Pussy Explosion?"

They stare at each other for a moment, the phrases 'Dillholes' and 'Pussy Explosion' echoing in the air.

And then they both double over, losing it completely. Lauren slumps off the bed and slides to the floor while Amy leans against the closet door. They're sure the entire neighborhood can hear them out Lauren's open window but neither of them care.

Lauren finally gets herself under control and folds the sleep shorts into a small square of fabric, perfect for packing. "My father's going to lose his shit."

Amy nods. "Yeah, he is. But you know what? Fuck 'em."

Lauren looks up at her and Amy expects  _The Lauren_ , that look she always gets when she dares speak ill of Bruce or Dallas or Republicans or - on rare occasions - croqeumbouche. Instead, there's little anger in Lauren's eyes. "Fuck him?"

"Yup," Amy says. She leans down and pulls a pair of sweats and another hoodie

(Lauren owns  _two_?)

from the laundry basket and tosses them on top of her sister's suitcase. "He's divorcing my mother, despite your very eloquent pleas not to." She leans back against the door. "Fuck. Him."

"Your mother cheated," Lauren says but there's no anger or malice behind it. Just simple fact.

"Yeah," Amy says, "with  _my dad_ , so it isn't like it was  _really_  cheat…" She shakes her head and slides down the door to the floor. "Yeah," she says. "She cheated."

No matter what, it always comes back to that. Her mother was the cheater, her father was the other man. Somehow, that should make her happy, the thought that maybe something, some kind of love and care could survive all those years and all the anger and the pain and the betrayals and…

_Fuck it._

Amy's had just about enough of making everything in her life some sort of double speak metaphor for her and Karma.

Been there, done that and fuck it all. She's  _done_. She has to be.

"Fuck 'em both."

Amy's head snaps up and she looks at Lauren like the other girl just admitted to wearing a mismatched bra and panties set and since she's seen Lauren's underwear drawer, that's just not possible. "What?"

"Fuck 'em both," Lauren says. "I told you, my father's done the same thing. Farrah just beat him to the punch." She snatches up the sweats dangling off the edge of the suitcase and starts the folding process again. "Besides, they were the ones who couldn't wait to get married. They were the ones who put us together and made us a…"

"Family?" Amy offers.

"Yeah," Lauren says. "A family. And now they think they can just scrap the whole thing and move  _us_ around like… like... luggage?" She gestures at the suitcase as she finishes folding the sweats and stands up. "Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em both."

Amy grins at her from the floor. "You're going on tour with the Dillholes, aren't you?"

Lauren drops the sweats into the suitcase and rolls her eyes. "God help me," she says. "I am."

And even Lauren can't hide the smile.

* * *

There are certain things Reagan could say to Karma that really - honest and true - wouldn't upset her.

She could call Karma on the way she acted at Communal that night, point out that Karma acted like a jealous ex more than a friend and let her own insecurities almost fuck up Amy's relationship before it had even started.

Karma might not  _like_ it, but she knows it's true. She knew it was true  _then_ , even as she was doing it.

She's considerably more self aware than most people give her credit for. But knowing you're doing it and being able to stop doing it aren't the same thing.

Reagan could point out that Amy's insistence on always putting Karma first - and vice versa - is never going to sit well with anyone either of them date.

Again, she might not like it, but… The evidence is kinda there.

She could even - maybe - critique Karma's handling of Amy's coming out. Because, yeah, Karma knows - and has always known - she fucked that up. She fucked that up like a boss.

She didn't mean to. It was never her intention to hurt Amy ( _or_  even Liam) but somehow, intention didn't equate to results.

Any of that, really, Karma would have to concede Reagan might have a point.

But this?

_You need to let her go._

Oh. Fuck. No.

"I need to let her go?" Karma took one step back toward the house and held her ground. " _I_  need to let her go? That's fucking rich."

Reagan shrugged, not sure what Karma was getting at. "Maybe," she said. "But it's also the truth."

Karma moved a little closer. With Reagan sitting on the step, they were at eye level. "Says the girl planning on spending the whole summer with her," she spat. "But that's what you wanted all along wasn't it? Get her alone. Away from me." Karma glared. "What'd you think, Reagan? Three months and she'll be your perfect little lesbian?"

Reagan got it then and, not for the first time, she cursed Amy's seeming inability to tell anyone the  _entire_ truth. "She didn't tell you," Reagan muttered. "For fuck's sake…"

She understood then why Karma was so mad, why it seemed to her that Reagan was, in essence, trying to muscle her way back into Amy's life. And heart. And bed.

"I'm not going," she says, calmly. "I'm staying here with Nicole. Amy's going on her own."

The look that passes over Karma's face goes through phases and Reagan can watch each one settle and move on, like clouds. Confusion. Doubt. Realization. Anger.

And then… well… Reagan's never seen anyone absolutely broken before, but she's got a pretty good idea that this is what it looks like because it hits her at the same time it dawns on Karma, what  _exactly_  it means that Amy's not only going, but going without  _her_.

Going with Reagan was one thing. It was easier then. Then, it was about that love Amy still has for her, about the chance - slim as it might be - that those different places they're in might be a little (or a lot) closer than they thought. Then, it was as much about being with Reagan as it was being  _without_ Karma.

This… oh fuck… this is something different, this is something worse. This is Amy willingly going God only knows where with people she doesn't know and spending three months doing something she's never done.

Just to avoid Karma and a summer together, just the two of them.

Karma sinks down to the grass and Reagan has the urge to get up and go inside. Remember that part about not her fight? Yeah… not her  _fix_ either.

"I don't…" Karma's just staring at the ground. "What did I do?" she asks. "How did I…" she shakes her head and puts her face in her hands.

Reagan slips off the steps and drops down onto the grass next to her. She reaches out, tries to put an arm around the younger girl but it's just too… weird. She lets her hands drop back down to her lap and picks at the grass.

"How can I have fucked up so badly?" Karma asks and Reagan doesn't know - but hopes - she's not looking for an actual answer. "She'll run away. She'll go to another state, other  _states_ , just to get away."

Karma shakes with silent sobs and Reagan really -  _really_  - regrets sitting down.

"She hates me that much." The words come out in a shudder and Reagan almost doesn't get it at all. "She  _hates_  me."

Reagan sighs and wonders, as she often has, how someone with a fucking encyclopedic knowledge of all things romantic comedy can be so clueless about real life love.

"It's hard, isn't it?" she asks, waiting till Karma's head pops up to continue. "Getting over what they did. Amy and Liam."

Karma stares at her, completely lost, but nods.

"Yeah," Reagan says. "I get that. It took me like a year to get over Charlotte. She still worked for the catering company and I had to see her all the time. It was hell."

Karma glances back up at the house, at Amy's window, and Reagan knows they've found a little common ground.

"She finally quit," Reagan says. "I don't know if she got a better job or got sick of the hours or…" She tugs a few blades of grass free from the ground, rubbing them between her fingers as she speaks. "Sometimes, I like to think she did it because seeing me hurt her as much as seeing her hurt me."

Karma smiles, for just a second, the romantic notion of it too much for her little shipper heart to resist. "Do you really think -"

"No," Reagan says with less than no hesitation. "I know Charlotte. She swept me off her list of fucks to give ten seconds after she dumped me." She drops the grass. "But it's easier to think that way, you know?"

Karma does know. If anyone would know about lying to yourself…

"You've never really forgiven them, have you?"

Karma turns to look at Reagan, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "What?"

"I mean, I know you say you have," Reagan says. "And we all know  _way_  too much about your reconciliation efforts with Liam…"

Karma bristles at the insinuation - even if she knows it's well earned - and glares at Reagan. "I don't really see how  _any_ of that is your business."

"Because  _she's_  my business," Reagan snaps. She's grateful Karma's got a little attitude back. She knows how to deal with pissy Kama. The other one…not so much.

It's easier to fight a little than console a lot.

"You think you've got a monopoly on loving Amy, Karma?" Reagan asks. "You think you're the only one who's gonna be crying themselves to sleep at the thought that three months gone is going to turn to four or five or the rest of your life?"

"But," Karma stutters. "But, you have Nicole."

Times like these, Reagan wonders how the hell Amy has stayed so patient with this girl for so long. "And you have - had? have? - Liam. And yet, you're here. From what Amy said, he's thinking of taking off the for the summer too. And yet…"

"I'm here," Karma finishes and Reagan nods. There's a moment of clarity for the younger girl and she speaks before she thinks. "You love her, don't you? Like,  _in_ love with her, love her. Still."

It's Reagan's turn to glance up at the window, the one she crawled in so many nights. "When I told Nicole about my history with Amy, she gave me such… shit. She didn't get it. The age difference. Amy's confusion.  _You_." Reagan reaches over and plucks her Coke from the steps, running the cold bottle between her hands. "There were so many obvious reasons… so many bright blinking neon fucking signs."

She turns her head so Karma can't see the tears.

"I was the first girlfriend and there's a reason they're called first and not only," Reagan says and she hopes she doesn't sound bitter. "And Nicole couldn't understand how I could've been so stupid. How I couldn't have seen that for myself, right from the start."

Karma reaches out a hand, haltingly, and rests it on Reagan's leg. "You did though, didn't you?"

Reagan nods. "From the moment I met her."

_There are. No. Boyfriends. Around me. Right now._

"I saw it coming right at me, like a freight train, and I couldn't help but lay down on the tracks," she says. "And now I have Nicole and we fit and there's no confusion, no age difference." She looks at Karma with a small, sad smile. "No you."

"And yet," Karma says, "you're here."

Reagan takes another long drink, letting the silence settle back in.

And yet, she's here. They both are.

"I imagine," she finally says, "that it's been hard. Seeing them every day, even seeing them together sometimes. Even when you knew Liam was into you. Even when Amy was with me."

Karma nods. It sucked. A lot. Seeing them, even so much as passing in the hall, it had killed her. And she didn't want it to, she wanted to forgive them and she knew - she fucking  _knew_  - she had a certain amount of blame

(but they fucked)

(she lied and she hurt them both)

(but they  _fucked_ )

but she didn't know how. She didn't know how to forgive without feeling, in every single bit of her, that she'd let them get away with it.

Karma didn't want to punish them.

She just didn't want to suffer alone.

"He was your first love," Reagan says. "And she's your best friend. When one hurts you, you're supposed to turn to the other."

Karma nods again, vigorously. It's the first time anyone's actually said it out loud, like that, and it's so simple and yet so fucking true.

"So…" Reagan says. "Imagine you're Amy. First love. Best friend." She's incredibly proud that her voice holds when she says 'love'. "One in the same. Nowhere else to go to, no escape."

Karma stares up at the house and Reagan thinks this time it might have sunk in.

"If  _seeing_ them hurt you like that, Karma," Reagan says, "imagine what  _being_ with you does to her. Imagine what fighting to save something that's never going to be what you  _really_  want but you can't live without it, is like."

Karma closes her eyes and tries to just breathe. Which, it turns out, is somewhat harder than she imagined.

"I have to let her go," she says. "But I… don't…"

Reagan stands up and turns to go back inside. "What you do is up to you, Karma. If you…" she shakes her head. "Amy has always thought the best of you. She's always believed in what you two have, more than anything else in her life."

Karma watches Reagan head up the steps and pause.

"You can do what you want Karma, and you probably will," Reagan says. " But for once… prove her right. Be the friend she thinks you are. Even if it kills you."


	5. Hopefully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Lauren finally leave on their trip with the band formerly known as Pussy Explosion, but not before some heartfelt talks with their parents. And Karma and Reagan get one last moment in the story (and I mean 'moment').

The bus leaves at seven sharp and Amy, usually anything but an early riser, is one of the first in line. She's  _ready_  for this.

Or, at the very least, she's ready to feign enthusiasm, to pretend the anxiety isn't creeping up in a burning rush from inside and threatening to devour her, ready to pretend that she's all about throwing herself into this new adventure, to dive headlong into finding out who  _this_  Amy really is.

And, hopefully, that dive doesn't land her on anything hard. Or sharp. Or painful.

Hopefully.

And  _that's_  the word for it, for that weird feeling she's got going on just under the anxiety, for that little bubble of something or other than keeps bouncing around in her mind. The thing that's got her up at seven am and standing in a line of people she's never met. And even with sweaty palms and a mind full of thoughts about everything that could go wrong?

She stays.

She hopes.

Yeah. She's ready. So fucking ready.

Lauren, on the other hand…

Her sister shifts one of her three

( _three_ )

suitcases and glares at Amy over the top of her sunglasses. "You didn't tell me it was a  _bus_ ," she says and Amy can practically taste the disdain.

"I said 'tour  _bus_ '," Amy says. She has her one suitcase - the tiniest one she owns - and her camera bag and both of them combined aren't half as big as the one case Lauren labeled as 'absolute necessities'. "I kinda thought it was self explanatory."

"I didn't think you meant an  _actual_  bus," Lauren snaps. She shifts her luggage in front of her and Amy's positive that Lauren actually intends to take all of it

(there's a chance, Amy thinks, that Lauren has Lizbeth and Leila stuffed in one of those cases)

and she doesn't much care if they have to strap one of the bags - or even another passenger - to the roof to make it work.

"Tour  _bus_ ," Amy repeats. "Tour  _bus_. What did you think I meant? Tour  _limo_? Tour  _town car_?" She glances down at Lauren's bags as they topple over again. "Tour C-130 cargo plane?"

Behind them, Bruce lets out a muffled snort and Amy is - momentarily - glad he's there as the next glare Lauren fires off is aimed at him and not her.

"I thought… well… I don't know  _what_  I thought," Lauren says. "But it wasn't  _this_." She waves a hand at the two beefiest members

(Amy  _hopes_  they're the two beefiest)

of the formerly  _Pussy Explosion_  road crew and the assorted menagerie of musicians and girlfriends and hangers on

(Lauren's already been mistaken for 'Camera Girl's girlfriend twice)

and shrugs. "It's not what I expected," she says and Amy can hear it in her voice.

She's already got one foot on the bus and one back home.

Amy gets it, really she does. She hears Lauren say 'expected' but she knows her sister  _means_  'hoped'. It's not what she hoped. It's not an obvious fix, it's not a great neon sign in the night screaming 'this will make it better.'

There are, Amy knows, more questions here than answers. And while that terrifies her, it's a bit exciting too. It's the first time Amy can remember - the first since she kissed Karma in the gym - that the idea of questions without obvious answers isn't the worst thing in the world.

_It's our chance to get back on track_

Nope. Not the worst thing. Not even close.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Bruce says. Up till now, he's said very little (since his first fit about it) but Amy's pretty sure that had something to do with some 'persuasion' from Farrah

("We're divorcing, Amy, not  _dead_ ")

and even more to do with the fact that he's pretty sure Lauren's not going to go through with it.

Amy's been sure he was wrong about that. But now…

She wants to talk Lauren into it. She really, really does. Amy knows she's going, no matter what. But she's gotten kind of accustomed to having Lauren around and, if she's going to be honest, she's going to need someone on this trip and not  _just_  to keep her from breaking down and calling Reagan or answering when Karma calls her

(because Karma will)

but this is the first time Amy's left home - and she doesn't just mean the person she thinks of  _as_  home - and it's scary.

Fuck scary.

It's Goddamned terrifying.

Climbing on that bus means not being surrounded by the safety of home, it means not knowing what each day is going to hold

(Karma. Reagan. Karma. Reagan. Liam. Nicole. Karma. Reagan.)

(was she really thinking of this as a  _bad_  thing?)

"Lauren," Bruce says, "if you've changed your mind, Show Pony…"

"Did I  _say_  I've changed my mind?" Lauren snaps. She arranges the suitcases in front of her and Amy can see her doing the mental math because  _everyone_  can see she's not getting them all on the bus. She needs to make some choices.

"Next!" the head roadie - at least Amy assumes that's who Captain Beefheart by the bus is, he could be Dillon of the Dillholes for all she knows - and the guitarist four spots ahead of them in line moves forward. He slings his one duffle toward the roadie but keeps his axe

(Amy did research on the Internet. She's got axe, skins, keys, and a long list of other words she still doesn't understand ready to drop at a moment's notice)

with him as he kisses his girl goodbye and boards the bus.

Amy glances over at Lauren, gripping two of her cases tightly, and there's this look that comes over the little blonde's face, one that Amy is sure she's never seen before and either Lauren's going to puke or she's going to kill someone

(and Amy's seen  _that_  look, so she's going with puke)

and then Farrah's there, grabbing the third of Lauren's suitcases with one hand and tugging her step-daughter toward the car with the other.

"Stall them," Farrah whispers to Amy as she trundles Lauren and the luggage back toward the station wagon.

"Next!"

* * *

Two more 'Next's ring out and Amy's next up and Lauren's still not back.

She politely excuses herself from the line and shuffles to the back, finding herself standing right next to Bruce.

And  _that's_  not awkward.

They stand there, the silence broken only by the occasional 'Next!' from The Beef

(And Amy's so going to be calling him that all summer)

both of them shuffling their feet and looking everywhere - most pointedly back at the wagon - but at each other.

It's Bruce who finally cracks and only because the silence is killing him. Living with Lauren - and then Farrah - has made him somewhat accustomed to constant noise.

"So… um… I'm not really all that good at this," he says. Amy's head snaps around, and she does a decent job - she hopes - at hiding the shock that Bruce is speaking to  _her_. "And I know I'm not too good at it and my little girl over there would  _tell_  you I'm not too good at it, which is probably why she's so keen on getting on that bus."

Amy suddenly wishes she'd asked Reagan to drive them here. Or Nicole. Or even Karma.

Well… maybe not Karma. But Liam, at least.

"I guess what I'm trying to say," Bruce says, "and obviously not doing too good a job is that...um… well… Amy…"

Amy puts him - and her - out of his misery. "I'm going to miss you too, Bruce," she says and to her own surprise, she actually means it.

Bruce smiles and ducks his head and Amy's reminded of how little she knows about him and Lauren's mom

(the only one of the women Bruce has been with Lauren  _won't_ talk about)

and just how badly everything with her dad and Farrah had to hurt him and just what it must be taking for him to even be standing here right now.

"You're a good kid… girl…  _person_ , Amy," Bruce says. "One of the better ones I know. And you've had a pretty crappy hand dealt to you this year. I… hope this trip helps."

Amy nods. "Me too."

(and there's that  _hope_  again)

"And I know… I know I made a big stink and I know I said I didn't think Lauren should go."

Forbid, Amy thinks.  _The word you're looking for is 'forbid'_.

As in 'I forbid you to go and don't you look at me like that and just keeping packing, young lady!"

"Truth is, I  _don't_  want her to go," Bruce says. "But I… I think she  _has_  to. I can't give her what she needs right now. Hell, I can't give  _me_  what I need right now. But I know me well enough to know that all  _that's_  gonna do is make me try harder and… well… we've all seen how me, trying, and Lauren go together."

_My kid's Intersex. What's yours got?_

"So… I guess what I'm getting at is… I really appreciate you taking her with you like this," Bruce says. "I know my little princ… Lauren… isn't always the easiest person to get along with."

He pauses, as if he's waiting for Amy to correct him.

She doesn't.

"Well… I just… thank you, for taking her and caring about her and... just... thanks," he says and goes back to staring at the bus, twitching slightly with every 'Next!' and Amy knows she should say something, she even knows what, but she's got no idea how.

"You know," she says, "my dad isn't always around."

Amy sees the roughly two thousand emotions that cross Bruce's face at the mention of her dad and yeah - like she was thinking - no idea  _how_.

"It's not his fault, really," Amy says, even though she's pretty sure Bruce would blame everything from the Cold War to the fall of the Roman Empire on Hank right about now. "It's his job. It's not like he doesn't love me or doesn't want to be here. He just… isn't."

Bruce stares straight ahead and Amy doesn't even know if he's listening but she soldiers on.

"And I know I was the one making a big deal out of how supportive he was and how accepting he was of me being whatever it is that I am."

She glances back at Farrah and Lauren, over by the wagon. Her mother's back is to her and she can't read the look on Lauren's face and maybe that's for the best.

"That wasn't fair of me to say," Amy says. "It's easy to be accepting and supportive when you don't have to be the one that's there. When you don't have to be the one with tissues and ice cream after a heartbreak."

Bruce scuffs one shoe in the gravel of the parking lot and Amy takes a small step closer to him.

"It's easy to be a dad," she says, "when you don't have to live in fear that every heartbreak's gonna be just that much worse because your little girl's… different. It's easy to accept when you've got the option of hanging up the phone and forgetting and it's easy to think how great 'different' is and to never once wish your kid was… the same… just so they'd never have to know even a single second's more pain than anyone else."

Bruce nods, slowly, the words coming in fits and starts. "I suppose it is," he says. "But I don't think that means your… dad… loves you any less."

"No," Amy says, shaking her head. "It doesn't. And I love him and I know he's the best dad  _he_ can be. But, if I had my  _choice_ … I think maybe someone who tries so hard, so often… well, he's probably bound to screw it up sometimes," she says. "But I think he might still be a pretty awesome dad to have."

Bruce doesn't look at her. "You think so?"

Amy nods and leans up, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "And so does  _she_ ," she whispers.

The Beef calls 'Next!' and Amy steps away to take her place in line. She doesn't look back and Bruce is grateful.

Enough Raudenfeld women have seen him cry.

* * *

Farrah pops Lauren's suitcases up into the trunk of the station wagon, unzipping each of them in turn and pulling things out at random, sorting them into nonsensical piles.

"Farrah?" Lauren asks, clearly unnerved by this breakdown or moment of clarity or whatever the  _fuck_  this is.

"Well, you obviously can't take everything," Farrah says. She holds up some of Lauren's clothes, a tee shirt in one hand and a pair of jeans in the other, like she's weighing them out.

"Farrah?" Lauren's really considering yelling for Amy but  _she_ 's in the midst of what appears to be some kind of serious talk with Bruce and yeah, Lauren thinks she'll stay here with the crazy lady, thank you very much.

"Clearly," Farrah says, "some things are going to have to stay here. You're just going to have to make some choices."

She turns to Lauren, holding up two shirts - both white, both plain, both what Lauren figured she could sleep in at night - and Farrah practically shakes them at her.

"Which?" she asks

(and Lauren can't quite ignore the ripple of oncoming sobs in Farrah's voice)

holding out one shirt and then the other. "Which do you want?" she asks. "I mean, you can't take everything, so you're going to have to decide because that's just what you do, right?"

Lauren's really re-thinking yelling for Amy.

"That's what people do," Farrah says. "They decide. They  _choose_."

Lauren wants to look away because, really, who wants to see their mother cry?

(And recent trips to the 'pit of sin' notwithstanding, Farrah's her mother - or the closest approximation she's had in  _years._ )

And if crying was really all it was, Lauren could - and would - look away. But this isn't just crying, this is Farrah losing her damn mind right here in front of the Exploding Pussy Dillholes and this is  _so_  not Lauren's deal, this is totally on Amy

(the one time in their relationship when biology trumps… well…  _her_ )

but Amy is still talking to Bruce

(and what the  _fuck_  is that?)

and probably, if Lauren thinks about it rationally, Amy's even less equipped to deal with crying / losing her mind /  _so_  not talking about choosing  _clothes_  Farrah than she is to deal regular Farrah.

Let's face it. Amy's never been any great shakes at the whole mother-daughter thing. But, to be fair, she hasn't exactly had the best role model.

Farrah has dropped the shirts and, somehow, has managed to empty one of Lauren's suitcases

(number three, the 'I could leave it if I had to' case, which is good cause she's probably going to  _have_ to leave it now)

and is alternating between tossing clothes and hair accessories and books

(college is a year away, people!)

into piles and pausing to let the sobs come and go.

"This won't do," Farrah says. "This just won't…" She shakes her head and starts shoving Lauren's stuff back into the case. "You'll take the other one," she says, slapping a hand down on number two, the average sized one. "It's the best fit. And it's like the ones everyone else has."

Right. Because this is all about luggage.

Baggage, maybe.

"Farrah…"

Farrah shakes her head and reaches into her purse, finding her wallet and fumbling through the small mountain of plastic inside. "This," she says, holding out a credit card to Lauren, "is for emergencies."

Lauren reaches out for the card, cautiously, like she's afraid Farrah might grab her and snatch her up like some kind of maternal venus flytrap.

"I gave one to Amy too," Farrah says, her sobs trickling off to sniffles

(and the sudden downshift isn't troubling  _at all_ )

"but you and I both know her definition of an emergency is, well…"

"An  _emergency_ ," Lauren adds, flipping the card over in her hand, the name Raudenfeld-Cooper sticking out in those tiny raised letters.

Farrah laughs - it's a watery sounding thing - and nods. "She's my kid but she's never understood the panic of not being able to find the right eyeliner."

"I've tried to teach her," Lauren says.

Farrah nods and she's clearly just barely holding back another round of tears. "You've been good for her," she says, "better than…"

She squeezes her eyes shut and leans against the back of the wagon, shoulders slumped.

"Farrah?"

"It's my fault," Farrah says, her eyes still shut. "I did  _this_ ," she waves one hand over her shoulder in the general direction of the bus and Lauren's not sure which 'this' she means.

There's a few to pick from.

"I ruined it all," she says. "All I ever wanted was... " She looks at Lauren, at the card clutched between her fingers. "I have twelve of those," she says. "Twelve cards from three different accounts. I keep getting new ones every time my name…"

Raudenfeld-Cooper. Raudenfeld-Wayne. Raudenfeld-King.

Raudenfeld.

Just Raudenfeld.

"Hank left," Farrah says. "Hank left and he left me  _with_  a mini-him that was supposed to be a mini-me, but Amy... " She smiles ruefully. "Amy never had any intention of being me. There were times… I swear sometimes she did things  _just_  to be different."

Things.

Liking school. Loving documentaries. Hating pink and nail polish and dressing up.

Loving Karma.  _Loving_ Karma.

Yeah.  _Things_.

"I want her to choose," Farrah says. "I want her to pick and to know and to stick with it and all because…" She reaches back into her wallet and pulls out a handful of plastic, more credit cards than Lauren's ever seen. "I want her to choose," Farrah says, tossing the cards down on the trunk, "because I  _couldn't_. And look where it got me."

"It got you here," Lauren says, softly. "With a daughter who's growing up too fast but doing about as well at as anyone possibly could. And with a…  _me_ … who thinks you're pretty…."

Lauren can't find the words - which is pretty fucking odd and she knows it - so she does the next best thing

(which, really, might just be the  _best_  thing, no next needed)

and she takes three steps over to Farrah and wraps her arms around her. "I love you," she says simply.

Like anything any of them ever does is simple.

"You don't," Farrah says. "You can't."

Her words say one thing. The death grip she's got Lauren locked in says another.

It's there. Hanging in the air between them. Farrah's guilt and Lauren's knowledge. It's been there since the motel and no matter how much she hurt Bruce, Lauren's always known it's not her husband Farrah feels the worst about betraying.

Lauren's not the kind, usually, to let people off the hook. That's not her style and even when it is

(Theo) (Anthony) (What-the-fuck-ever)

it ends about as well as you'd expect so, really, she's got no good reason to say it.

"I forgive you."

But she does anyway.

"What?" Farrah tips her head back to look at Lauren and the way she asks it, the raw disbelief in her voice tells Lauren all she needs to know.

She's the first. The first one to ever say that to Farrah.

Well. Fuck.

"I'd like to say it wasn't your fault," Lauren says. "But it kinda was. Even if sooner or later daddy would've done the same to you."

They really were a well matched pair.

"But I do understand," she says. "First love is a… "

"Bitch," Farrah says, her hand flying to her mouth as she realizes but Lauren just laughs and nods and holds her mother

(because Farrah  _so_  is)

just a little bit tighter.

"So," Lauren says, "it might have been your fault and maybe I shouldn't, but… I do. I forgive you."

She leans up and kisses Farrah lightly on the cheek and whispers in her ear. "And so does she." Lauren tugs her one suitcase out of the trunk. "Or she will, hopefully. But you two have a little more baggage." She rolls her eyes at herself. "So it's kind of a work in progress, and it might take a little time."

"Like three months?" Farrah asks.

Lauren nods

(even if, really, she was thinking years)

(Raudenfelds, she's learned, are a stubborn bunch)

and smiles at Farrah. "I have a feeling," she says. "This Amy?" She glances over at her sister, standing in line, inching ever closer to the bus and every step is one more Lauren never thought she'd take. "She might surprise you. She might surprise us all."

* * *

Amy leans her head against the glass and stares out at her paren… at Bruce and Farrah

(not Bruce  _and_  Farrah)

standing together and though her mother may have her head on Bruce's shoulder and he may have his arm around hers, there's just enough distance and just enough awkward tension rippling through the air that Amy can feel it all the way through the bus window.

It's one more reminder, one more tiny little thing that almost no one else would notice, one more sign that she  _has_  to go

(which is good, since she's  _on the bus_  and she's pretty sure The Beef wouldn't give her back her bag even if she asked)

no matter how scared she is, no matter how much her insides are churning and no matter how many times she's run her fingers over the screen of her phone, one tap from Karma, one tap from Reagan.

No matter how often she's scanning the parking lot, waiting for one - or both - of them to show up, to come riding to her rescue even though she knows - fucking  _knows_  - she has to rescue herself.

Still, a girl can't help imagining…

It'd be like in the movies, all those ridiculous rom-coms Karma made her suffer through

(and it  _was_  suffering, even more so when Amy finally realized how badly she wanted to live in one, just to get the girl)

and the girl - that would be Amy - about to leave town, her last ditch effort to salvage her broken heart and then the boy

(and it's  _always_ a fucking boy and don't get Amy started on the heteronormative bullshit of that because maybe she doesn't know her label just yet, but it sure ain't fucking straight and if Felix came running right now she might just have The Beef run him over)

so, the  _other girl_  - that would be Reagan or Karma and Amy seriously doesn't know which would be better

(her heart says Karma)

(her  _other_  heart - and yes, she can have two because...well…  _reasons_  - and some other parts of her anatomy that are located somewhere south of her heart, say Reagan)

(and her brain - which is about the only part she really trusts anymore - says 'can we hurry the fuck up and start the bus, please?')

but, anyway, one of them - and only one, because Amy could so not handle having to choose right now - shows up, racing onto the scene, desperate to stop her, desperate to pledge her love, desperate to keep her here.

Secretly, Amy thinks it's about fucking time someone  _else_  was desperate.

Reagan would come tearing into the lot in her truck, engine racing, tires squealing as she skidded to a stop in front of the bus.

Karma would probably show up in the Good Karma truck because… well…  _Karma._ And there'd be less engine racing and much less squealing unless you count Good Karma's brakes because hashtag this truck is fucking old and not meant for last-scene-of-the-movie dramatics.

And there they'd stand - whichever of them it was - daring The Beef to start the bus, banging on the door, yelling for her over and over.

Amy.

Amy.

" _Amy!_ "

She blinks her eyes and turns to find Lauren glaring at her, pushing with her knees, trying to get her to move over in the seat.

"Sorry," Amy says, shoving over to make room.

Lauren drops into the seat with a huff, fidgeting against the vinyl seat and trying to get comfortable. "This drive is going to suck," she says. "These seats are going to get so fucking hot and my skin does not react well to that sort of thing."

"Uh huh," Amy says, her eyes darting over the parking lot.

"I talked to your mom," Lauren says. "I think she's going to be OK. Maybe. In a while." She huffs again, wiggling against the seat, already dreading the cramps she was going to get from having to share the seat with her Amazonian sized sister.

"Yeah," Amy mumbles. She thinks, no, maybe, was that? A flash of red behind that tree?

No.

Maybe?

"And I know you talked to my daddy," Lauren says.

"Sure," Amy mutters, tilting her head to get a better look. If she only had x-ray vision…

"And I hope you told him about that crush you have on him," Lauren says. "He really does like younger women, so you totally might have a chance. But you'd have to get over that whole vagatarian thing because Daddy only likes 'em straight."

"Got it," Amy mutters and then "OW! What the  _fuck_  Lauren?" after her sister pinches the skin just behind her elbow.

Pinches it hard.

"Stop," Lauren says. "Stop looking. Stop wondering. Stop hoping and wishing and imagining and, in fact…" Lauren stands. "Get up."

"What?"

"Get. Up." Lauren repeats and Amy does

(she knows  _that_  look)

and Lauren slides back into the seat, taking the window. "Sit down," she says. "And remember why you're doing this."

Amy slides down into the seat, one leg sticking out slightly into the aisle and she can feel the vibrations as The Beef starts the bus.

Remember, she thinks. Remember.

The bus starts rolling and - window or not - Amy has to close her eyes.

Lauren watches as Bruce and Farrah slip out of view as the bus rolls through the lot.

"How did it end?" she asks.

"What?"

"The movie in your head," Lauren says. The bus chugs along and she leans her head against the glass. "Did she get here in time? Did she stop you from leaving?"

Amy keeps her eyes shut and shakes her head. "I don't know," she says. "Someone pinched me."

The bus pulls alongside the tree and, really, Lauren isn't surprised. Not even a little.

"You want me to stop pinching you?" she asks.

It takes Amy a moment to answer, but it's not nearly as long a moment as Lauren expected.

"Not yet," Amy says. "Soon though, maybe." Her hand finds Lauren's on the seat between them. "Definitely soon," she says. "Hopefully."

The Beef turns the bus onto the main road and Lauren pulls her eyes from the window, letting the sight of Karma and Reagan, standing together behind the tree, fade from view.

"Hopefully," she says. "That'll work."


	6. What's a Halsey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy and Lauren ride out of Dallas, share some fears, some laughs, and make a new friend. Sort of.

The field trip starts on a bus headed toward Dallas.

Amy spends most of the first hour or so sitting as stiffly as humanly possible, her phone clutched in one hand, her camera bag in the other. Lauren watches her out of the corner of her eye, afraid to even speak for fear her sister will snap like a rubber band.

She thinks, for just a moment or two, of telling Amy about Reagan and Karma hiding behind the tree. But when she clears her throat to speak and Amy's head snaps around, her eyes wide and trembling, Lauren thinks twice.

That little secret can stay hers for now.

Who says she can't be empathetic?

She watches Amy for a few more minutes and she has to admit - not that she'd ever say it out loud - that she's starting to worry. She's never seen Amy like this, not even the morning after Karma found out about her and Liam. That day, Amy was scared, terrified, worried beyond measure.

This is something else entirely.

This is panic. And Lauren knows panic.

She fishes her phone out of her purse, tapping the screen until her messages app comes up but then she freezes.

Who? Who the hell can she text?

Farrah? Yeah,  _that's_  a good plan.  _Hey, mom. I was just wondering. Has Amy ever had panic attacks? You know, freezing and freaking and totally losing her shit?_

There's be a squad car and an ambulance chasing them down within minutes.

So that's a no to Farrah and that means a no to her father too, because divorce or no divorce, Lauren knows telling Bruce is telling Farrah and there's that squad car again.

No Farrah, no Bruce, no Reagan because that kind of defeats the point of Amy leaving, and no Shane because (like Bruce) telling Shane is telling… well…  _everyone_.

So that leaves….

No.

Just…  _no_.

Lauren would rather handle this on her own. Hell, she'd rather call the squad cars and the men in the white coats herself than call Karma.

She puts the phone away and decides to start slow, to see if maybe she can get Amy to release the death grip on her own phone. Lauren finds a pack of gum in her purse and holds it out to Amy, silently offering her something else to exercise her nerves on.

The plan works perfectly (like there was ever a doubt) and Amy sets the phone down on the seat between them, curling and uncurling her fingers to get the feeling back. She takes the offered gum and folds a stick into her mouth.

She chews for about three seconds before she looks over at Lauren, her mouth curled into an expression the tiny blonde can only describe as a cross between pain and 'oh dear God, what did I just put in my mouth?'

"What. The. Fuck. Is. This?" Amy asks, each word stressed by another (painfully slow) chew.

Lauren glances down at the pack. It's sparsely labelled in something that looks like black Sharpie, so obviously homemade. "Boysenblueacaiberry," she reads. "Lisbeth gave it to me. I think she got it from the…"

Lauren tails off but Amy doesn't need her to finish. No one who lives in Austin or goes to Hester would need her to finish that sentence. She carefully spits the gum back into the wrapper and folds it up.

"Sorry," Lauren says.

"It's cool." Amy shudders and flicks her tongue against her lips, trying to kill the taste. "I've had Good Kar… stuff from the truck before." If Lauren notices the way Amy can't even say the ( _her_ ) name, she doesn't comment. "That actually tasted  _better_  than some of the things I've ingested from the Ashcrofts over the years."

Lauren laughs a little, mostly to cover her relief that Amy's somewhat back to the land of the living. She watches as her sister's hand drifts over her phone but then closes, settling down on top of it rather than picking it up.

"They'll call," Lauren says. "Or text. Or email. Or snapchat. Or… what's the digital equivalent of a homing pigeon?"

Amy laughs and it isn't full and it isn't solid or even very real but it's a start. "I know… they… will," she says.

And by they, she totally means Kar…  _not Reagan_. Amy knows her ex and she knows that no matter how much she might want to (and Amy's pretty sure that's  _a lot_ ) she won't reach out. Reagan knows what this trip means to Amy, she knows that getting over Kar…  _her_ … isn't the only thing Amy's got to do.

Reagan knows that's not the only heartbreak Amy's had lately. And she knows that, depending on the day (or the hour or the minute), it might not even be the worst one. Because at least Kar…  _she's_  single. She doesn't have a Nicole. Amy hasn't been moved on from, hasn't been replaced in  _her_  life.

Yet.

"I know they will," Amy says again, still meaning 'not Reagan'. "I'm just not sure I want them to."

Lauren nods. She knows the feeling. She's spent the last few days alternating between hoping every buzz of her phone is Theo calling and hoping just as much that it isn't.

"On the one hand," Amy says, "I really  _don't_  want them to. I mean that's what this whole trip is for. To get away from them."

"Not away," Lauren corrects. "Over."

Amy glances down at the phone on the seat, her fingers tracing the edges. "There's a difference?"

Lauren nods. "Away means nothing  _without_  over," she says. "Away means.. away. It's like hiding. And you've done  _that_  before."

"Reagan wasn't hiding," Amy says, her tone sharp and defensive. "I don't care what Shane says about me burying what I felt for Kar…" she pauses and stares straight ahead, taking in the Beef behind the wheel and the Axe-man in the front seat, his groupie girl with the green hair tucked into his side. "I loved Reagan."

"I never said you didn't," Lauren says. "And  _loved_?"

Amy shrugs cause even she can't explain how it is she loves both of them at once, but she does. "Love. Loved. Will always…" She shrugs again. "It's a work in progress."

Lauren nods again because she sort of gets that too, as much as she doesn't want to. "I didn't mean to say you hid with Reagan," she says. "But you hid. A lot. Before you confessed in that ill advised toast. After the wedding. Even if you hadn't had the whole Liam thing to deal with, you still would've hid and pretended you were over it. Over  _her_."

"I wouldn't -"

Lauren holds up a hand. "You gave Liam to her for her birthday. You asked Reagan out because you needed to do something for you to try and move on. To stop hiding. And then you kept Karma a secret from Reagan for weeks. Need I go on?"

Amy turns and looks at her, confusion all over her face, confusion that slowly shifts to surprise and a smile. "You were watching," she says. "You were paying attention.  _To me_."

It's Lauren's turn to shrug. "I'm an 'A' student without having to try," she says. "My best friends most scintillating conversational topic is knitting and my first boyfriend in Austin had the IQ of that fern Farrah keeps in the kitchen." She smiles back. "Turns out that for all my bitching, Amy Raudenfeld was a much more educational class than anything at Hester."

"Life advice from the sexually confused step-sister 101?"

Lauren nods. "Interesting class," she says. "With some potentially awesome field trips."

* * *

An hour and a half past Dallas, the conversation, such as it was, about Reagan and the … other one… has grown tiresome for them both.

(And yes, Lauren's noticed it now and no, she's not saying anything because so what it Amy can't say… her… name. At least  _she_  only had one, unlike some two-faced, two-named narcs with overly ambitious career goals.)

(She thinks Amy's earned a bit of a right to not be over it just yet.)

(They both have.)

A trip that's supposed to be getting them over the things and people they've left behind should probably start to focus on other things.

Like the people they  _haven't_ left behind.

"I don't like her," Amy says, snapping a twenty-five minute and thirty-mile silent streak.

Lauren glances around the bus, trying to see which 'her' Amy's got in mind, silently hoping it's neither of the two overly hisptered up girls in the seat two spots in front of them. One looks like she could bench press them both and the other was reading an actual book.

Lauren knows she's eventually going to need someone to talk to other than Amy and she's pretty sure the Beef and the Green Goblin up front ain't gonna cut it.

"Which one?" she whispers, fear of being bench pressed out weighing her usual sense of 'I don't give a fuck'.

Amy nods toward the front. "That one, the one in front with Dillon. Little miss green hair."

Lauren follows Amy's nod and spots the two behind the driver, the Beef. "That's Dillon?" she asks.

Amy nods again. "I heard someone calling him 'The King' and he gets the prime real estate up front. Seems all diva-ish lead singer type to me."

Lauren can't argue. " _That_ 's Dillon," she says again and there's clearly some tone in her voice, because Amy turns to her, the tiniest of smiles on her face.

"Really?" she asks.

Lauren huffs and looks away. " _What_?" she snaps. "From a purely aesthetic viewpoint, he's a good looking guy." She looks back to the front. "Athletic. Like he works out, but mostly on stage. Not a gym rat pumping iron all the time. He enjoys what he does and it shows. He's toned and defined but he's not all all cut and veiny and  _what the hell are you laughing at?"_

Amy puts a hand over her mouth to cover the giggles. "Nothing," she says. "Just sometimes you are  _so_  straight."

Lauren glares at her until the giggles stop (though she suspects she's going to hear the phrase 'cut and veiny' at least once a day for the next few months.) "Like you weren't checking out green bean up there."

"What?" Amy asks. "No. Ew."

Lauren arches a challenging brow.

"I  _just said_  I don't like her," Amy says. "She's trying too hard. Like when Reagan wanted to seem all cool and hip, she didn't have to go all crazy with her hair."

"Purple. Red. Blue," Lauren ticks them off on her fingers. "Sorry,  _turquoise_."

Mic dropped.

Amy ignores her. "She's trying to be all rocker girl," she says. "Like Hayley Williams."

"Yeah," Lauren agrees. "Or like Halsey."

Amy nods and then… "Wait," she says. "What's a Halsey?"

Lauren closes her eyes, expecting a total silence to fall over the bus and every eye to look their way. She's sure bench press and bookworm heard and she half expects the Beef to slam on the brakes and make them walk home.

"Amy?" she asks when, after a moment it becomes clear they're safe, "are you sure you're… well…  _some kind_  of queer?"

Amy looks at her, confused. "Yeah."

Lauren nods. "And you've heard of the Internet, right? Big thing. Lots of places to go, lots of weird people you would never talk to in real life, but they posted a gif of that show you love, so now they're your new bestie?"

"Yes, Lauren," Amy says. "I've heard of tumblr."

"And you still don't know…" the blanks space on Amy's face ( _so_  not the Tay Tay kind) answers the question before Lauren even finishes. "Give me your phone," she says.

"Why?"

Lauren glares. "Because I have  _both of them_  on speed dial and I'm not afraid to use it."

Amy hands over the phone. She's sure Lauren's bluffing.

Just not sure enough.

Lauren takes the phone and accesses Amy's Spotify. She searches and finds Halsey, saving  _Badlands_  to the phone and handing it back.

"I expect a full review of that by tomorrow," she says. "And if that review isn't good? You're  _wrong_."

Amy scans the track listing and the album cover and the little bio picture and the bigger background one. She glances back up at green machine who has, remarkably, untangled herself from Dillon and is chatting with the two hipster girls. She can see why Lauren made the Hasley connection.

"I still thinks she's more Hayley," she says.

Lauren looks up. "Hair says Hayley. Body says Halsey." She tilts her head slightly and arches a brow again. "Booty says Kendrick."

Amy almost chokes on air. "You sure  _you're_  not some kind of queer."

Lauren smiles but never looks her way. "LGBTQIA, bitch," she says. "Look it up."

* * *

Four tracks into  _Badlands_  (which Amy begrudgingly likes, though she thinks Elle King is better and early Ani DiFranco, which Reagan turned her onto, is more her jam), Amy tugs her headphones from her ears and turns to Lauren.

"I'm scared."

Lauren lifts her head from the cool glass of the window and looks at her. "I knew that since before Dallas," she says.

"No," Amy says, "not about that. Not about  _them_." She frowns, unsure how the hell to say this without sounding like a baby. "I've never…"

She pauses, hemming and hawing and wringing her hands in her lap.

"Never what?" Lauren asks. "Never been to Spain where it rains on the plains? Never seen a man naked and not had the urge to wash your eyes with bleach? Never left home?"

She doesn't miss -  _can't_ miss - the way Amy's eyes flicker in her direction on the last one.

"Seriously?"

Amy nods. "Mom and step-fucker number three tried to take me on their honeymoon," she says, "and they had to buy me a plane ticket and send me back to Austin cause I was freaking out. I had to stay with the Ashcrofts for a week."

"But what about the Alamo? You said you and Kar… your class went there."

(Now she's got  _Lauren_ doing it.)

Amy stares at the seat, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I had… friends… with me. And Mrs. Ashcroft was one of the parents that went and I'm pretty sure that smoothie she gave me had Benadryl in it. Or Xanax."

Even then, Lauren thinks, the Ashcrofts were into the pharmaceuticals.

"Amy," she says, concern lacing her voice. "We're leaving Texas in about an hour. Maybe less."

"I know," Amy says, holding up her phone. "GPS alerts." She shakes her head. "It's not even that, really," she says. "I mean, you're here and unlike back then, going back isn't an option."

"Then what is it?" Lauren asks.

"It's all of this," Amy says. "I'm doing something I've never done. With people I've never met and without…"

She tips her head back against the seat and sighs. She knew this would happen. She  _expected_ it and yet, somehow, it's still surprising her.

"Half the reason I've ever been good at anything was because I had someone right there who never believed I was  _bad_  at anything. Not even the yo-yo." She balls her hands into fists in her lap. "I've never filmed so much as a kid's birthday party. What if I suck?"

"Well, if you suck," the voice comes from the seat next to them and both girls spin in that direction. "Then we'll just have to make you walk home. Probably from Ohio, I'd guess. Maybe Maryland. Which is farther, you think?"

They both stare - in a mix of confusion and annoyance - at the green haired girl who has somehow interjected herself into their conversation. Amy is mostly confused, like why the hell is  _she_  talking to them. Lauren, on the other hand…

"Um… not sure, but was anyone talking to  _you?"_

"Nope," Greenie shakes her head. "But I generally find that isn't much of an impediment if I don't let it be." She smiles and Amy gets the feeling that usually gets her what she wants (and she can kinda see why…) "Hi," she says, holding out a hand, "I'm -"

"Leaving?" Lauren suggests. "Butting the hell out? Skedaddling? Vamoosing? Packing it up and moving it along?"

Greenie smiles again and Amy can't help but notice how perfect her teeth are, even the slightly crooked one

(and oh, you  _have_  to be kidding me)

and then she's talking again. "You must be camera girl's sidekick. Laura, right?"

Amy shuts her eyes in preparation for the storm (and cause staring at that many teeth, all white and clean and shiny is starting to hurt).

"It's  _Lauren_ ," Lauren snaps. "And if anyone around here is the sidekick, it's  _her_ ," she says, jabbing a finger into Amy's back. "At least I know who Halsey is."

There's a gasp from the nearby seats and Amy knows she's saying 'cut and veiny' at least  _twice_ a day for the next three months.

Maybe longer.

"You don't know Halsey?" Greenie asks and the look on her face makes Amy feel like she just kicked a puppy or ran over grandma's toes with the car.

"I didn't," she says, shooting Lauren as fierce a glare as she can. "I do now." She holds up her phone, the  _Badlands_  tracklist still on the screen.

"And the verdict?" Greenie asks.

Amy considers lying but she's done enough of that the last few months to last her a lifetime, so truth it is. "Good," she says and there's a palpable sense of relief on the bus, but then…"Not Elle King good or even Demi Lovato good, really, but…"

Elle, she might have gotten away with. But Demi…

Oh, Amy.

Greenie leans her head out, looking past Amy. "You've got a point there, Laura. She's definitely the sidekick. You're gonna have to play mama bear for this one. You know, keep an eye on her, protect her from us nasty rock-n-rollers."

Lauren's eyes flare at the 'Laura' but she does kinda feel like the mama bear, so… "Whatever," she says. "Now, if you don't mind, this? This is an 'A' and 'B" conversation, so -"

"You want me to 'C' my way out?" Greenie asks, a thin layer of disappointment in her voice, as if she expected better of Laura.

_Lauren._

"I was going to say maybe you should just find your way back up front and groupie your ass off with Dillon," Lauren says, "but sure, let's go with your version."

"Dillon?" Greenie asks, cocking her head to one side and Amy notices the small tattoo trailing along the back of her neck.

Lauren nods. "Tall guy," she says. "Nice… I mean  _healthy_ … arms. Got a guitar on his lap but I'm sure he'd make room for you. I'm guessing he's done that a lot."

Greenie laughs. "He has," she says. "Since we were kids. You mean King, right?" she asks nodding in the direction of 'not cut and veiny'.

"That's  _The_  King, baby," he hollers back from his seat.

"You're the only one who adds 'The' to it, Ryan," Greenie hollers back. "We don't all share your unhealthy Elvis obsession." She turns back to Amy. "He had a pompadour all through tenth grade. It was sad, really."

"Wait…" Amy says. " _Ryan_?"

Greenie nods. "Ryan King. Lead guitarist and founding member of the Pussy Explosion and yes, he did come up with that name on his own."

"Like Dillholes is so much better," Lauren snarks.

"Nope," Greenie says. "But it will get us booked in more clubs and yeah, we know it sucks, but it's a work in progress, you know?"

"But… wait…" Amy's a broken record. " _Ryan_ ," she says again. "So if he's...Ryan… then who's Dill…"

She trails off and Greenie can see the light bulb going on and she can't helps smiling both rows of those perfect (if slightly crooked) teeth.

"I'm going to kill her," Amy says. "I'm going to kill Reagan."

Lauren looks at her, totally lost. "Why?"

"Oh, I think I know, Mama Bear," Greenie says. "She didn't tell you, did she,  _Shrimp Girl_?"

Kill. She's going to  _kill_  her. Slowly.

Greenie holds out a hand, again. "Hi," she says. "I'm Dillon. Welcome aboard."


	7. Middle Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy finally sees the text from Karma (see Left Behind) and has a chat with Dillon about distance and kissing girls.

It's a slippery slope and totally unfair, Amy knows that, but it doesn't stop her at all, not even for a second, from blaming it all on Reagan.

It's her fault. _All_ of it.

First, there was the trip itself. _That_ had been Reagan's idea and Amy knew it had been meant - at the time - as a way for them to be together. She couldn't _really_ blame Reagan for _that_. But that had been back when they were a couple, back before Reagan had decided Amy wasn't gay enough for her.

And yes, _that_ was a little unfair, or maybe a lot, or maybe about as unfair as Amy could possibly get but right then and there, sitting on a bench at some random rest stop, not even sure what fucking _state_ she's in, Amy doesn't really feel like being fair.

Not even a little.

Then there was the breakup and those crying eyes and _I have no idea how I'm going to get over you_ and Amy remembering thinking _that's your own damn fault_ and then feeling horribly guilty for it. And feeling guilty over something that _wasn't_ her fault (like having feelings for someone, even if she knew that someone would _never_ feel the same), something out of her fucking control?

Amy had about enough of that for one lifetime. Or more than one. Several of them. _All_ of them.

None of that made her feel like being any more fair and she didn't see any reason it should and _there_ was that slippery slope, the transitive properties of illogic as she bounced along the 'if / then' track. _If_ they hadn't broken up _then_ she never would have fallen down the Karma shaped rabbit hole again and _then_ she never would have ended up tasting chlorine on Karma's tongue and _then_ maybe, just _maybe_ , Amy wouldn't have spent every day since at war with herself.

She'd been of two minds since that day and the two were increasingly unable to exist together in one head. There was the utter devastation that she'd lost someone she truly loved ( _loves_ ) ( _loved_ ) (and _fuck it…_ _this_ was what Reagan had done). And there was the relief, silent and depressing and painful relief that she was alone again, where her confusion and uncertainty and unhealthy attachments couldn't hurt anyone but her.

And Felix.

And Karma.

And, in some weird way, Liam, but Amy didn't give even a tiny little damn about _that_ and thinks that maybe (not _really_ maybe) he deserves it cause _if_ he could have kept his lesbian fetishizing hands and mind and… other _parts_ … to himself, _then_ maybe she wouldn't be sitting on this fucking bench and she'd be back home, on her couch, laughing at some stupid movie with Karma and all of this would still be buried somewhere deep down inside and she wouldn't have to deal with it.

At least not _now_. Cause slippery slopes and not fairs aside, Amy knows all too well that shit like this (and _dammit_ , is she ever going to be able to stop thinking of her own fucking feelings as 'shit like this') never stays buried. It digs and claws and scrapes its way out of whatever hole you stuff it down into. Sooner or later?

It always finds a way out.

Amy stands up from the bench and paces the length of the tiny rest stop strip of lawn, the entirety of it is _maybe_ the size of Lauren's room so she makes quick work of the pacing, her phone clutched in her hand.

It keeps buzzing. Or maybe it only did that once (it did) and maybe she missed it (she did) and now she can't _stop_ hearing it even though maybe it's not making a sound (it's not).

And all that?

_So_ Reagan's fault.

First was the trip and then the breakup and then… oh… _then_ it was the _whales_ and Amy totally and without reservation blames her ex for _that_. Reagan was the one who gave them the place to get high and, besides the _obvious_ legal issues, Reagan's older and that's supposed to make her wiser and how the hell could _anyone_ think Amy getting high around Karma was anything even in the _neighborhood_ of wise?

Then there was the trip again and the escape and the way to get away from the pain and the drama and how could Amy pass that up? How could she _not_ take advantage of a great opportunity for college and to get the fuck away from pools and lips and kisses that would never lead anywhere?

It was a way to get out of the loop, the fucking endless loop that smashed and crushed and mangled her heart every time she thought it was fixed. Amy knows she can't blame Reagan for _that_ (that one is all on her and she fucking knows it) but here she is, on this trip - her supposed escape - and she's not even half a day into it, no more than a state away, and it's already looped around again and that fucking mangler is headed straight for her heart.

Her phone buzzes in her hand and Amy knows it's all in her head and it really only buzzed the one time and she just didn't feel it or hear it. And why was that?

Dillon.

And whose fault was _she_?

Yeah. You got it.

Dillon. Dillon with the green hair and the adorable teeth (and who knew _that_ was a thing) and the whole _being a girl_ and, yup, Reagan had left that part out and yeah, Amy knows she didn't _ask_ , but she _knows_ Reagan didn't tell her on purpose. She even, sort of, understands why.

So far, in the four hours or so Amy's known her, Dillon's great. She's into music (King says she's got the best pipes in Austin). She's not afraid to have a little personality (see the green hair and the tat along the back of her neck, and the piercing in a… sensitive… spot that King hinted at that Amy can't think about for too long without going catatonic). She gives as good as she gets (Laura… _Lauren_ … can attest to that), she's funny (Mama Bear Cooper) and she's got a best friend she's been tight with since practically the womb.

Amy _thought_ it, but Lauren _said_ it.

"She's like Karma and Reagan's love child. With a better ass."

And maybe Amy had thought it but she hadn't spent much time dwelling on it until then but Lauren was right. Dillon was, so far, Reagan and Karma in one tiny little sexy package and Amy has to spend the next three months with her and and _that_ is _so_ Reagan's fault.

It was so Reagan's fault that Amy was talking to Dillon - had to get some background for the documentary, you know - and listening to her banter back and forth with King (and trying hard not to watch Lauren watch him) and actually enjoying herself (not a lot but _enough_ ) that she never heard or felt or saw the message arrive. It wasn't until they'd crossed the Texas border, not until they'd made their first food stop and Amy had reached for her phone so she could have photographic evidence of Lauren Cooper eating Taco Bell, that she'd seen the blinking icon and the tiny little '1' next to her messages.

Somehow, and Amy's not quite sure how, she never even thought - not even for a second and _that_ says something - that it was from _her_ (and so what if she still couldn't say Karma's name?). It was her mom, checking in. It was Shane, bitching that she'd never told him she was leaving. It was Lauren, telling her not to be so obvious in how she stared at Dillon (and asking her to find out if 'not cut and veiny' was single and she was _just_ asking and don't make a _big fucking deal_ out of it).

_I miss you_

Yeah, it was none of _those_ and it was _all_ Reagan's fault.

* * *

The bus is loading back up and Amy knows she has to get on.

Which is exactly why she's not moving.

If she sits here long enough they'll forget her. They don't know her (and they really _don't_ ), she's just Shrimp Girl ( _fuck_ Reagan) or camera girl or sidekick and none of _those_ people get missed.

_I miss you_

If she stays right here, right behind the bench, standing on the edge of the Lauren's room sized strip of green, the bus will load and the Beef will start the engines and they'll roll on out and she'll be left behind.

Lauren might miss her. But she's too busy trying to survive 'Bell-Belly' which is what happens when you let some obviously in shape lead guitarist dude goad you into downing three extra chicken soft tacos to prove you're not some hippie granola eater. So, Amy's pretty sure no one else will even notice, not until later, not until they're well down the road and she's still here, standing behind the bench.

She's on this trip to give herself some distance. That's what Reagan called it. Distance and space and time.

_I miss you_

None of those are really possible, Amy thinks. Not when you're one strong WiFi signal or good cell reception away from the things (people) ( _person_ ) you need the distance from. Staying on the bus, on the trip, it's not going to give her distance or space or time. There was one message, there will be more.

Karma (and yes, she can say the name now) is nothing if not persistent.

Amy had thought when Karma didn't show up at the bus, when she didn't make some rom-com style last minute attempt at making her stay, that maybe - just _maybe_ \- she'd actually understood. That maybe it had finally clicked for her, that maybe Karma had finally grasped that this wasn't Amy's attempt to punish her or guilt her into feeling something she clearly didn't.

Amy had taken it as a sign that Karma was going to give her what she needed.

_I miss you_

Fuck the signs. There were no signs. There were just three little words that proved distance, space, and time were nothing but figments of Reagan's imagination.

"Which one?"

Amy spins, startled by the voice, the voice that turns out to be Dillon and yeah, that's about the worst possible option right this second.

"What?"

Dillon's carrying a can of Coke and she swings her legs over the backrest of the bench, sitting atop it. "Which one?" she asks again, nodding down at Amy's phone. "Which one sent the message you've been freaking out over since we got here? Reagan or… the other one?"

Amy sighs and adds another item on the 'reasons I'm going to fucking _kill_ Reagan' checklist she's keeping in her head. "That's what she called her? The 'other one'?"

Dillon shrugs and the motion makes her tattoo shimmer in the late evening light. Amy can't qute tell what it is and she's trying not to stare or ask. "She said the name but it was something weird and, yeah, I know people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, but Dillon's normal compared to… Spirit? Kismet? Destiny?"

Amy bites back a laugh and leans against the bench. "Karma," she says softly. "The other one's name is Karma. And it was her."

"Makes sense," Dillon says. She takes a long drink of Coke and offers it to Amy, who shakes her head. "Didn't figure Reagan would crack this early. Even with the break up and all."

Amy nods. And then "Wait… break up?"

Dillon smiles and Amy's sure it has something to do with the sudden ripple of… hope? joy? relief?... something in her voice at those _two_ little words the ones that make her momemtarily forget the other _three_.

"Yeah," she says. "Nicole dumped her this morning. I called her to make sure she didn't want to come along and I guess I interrupted right in the middle." She eyes Amy across the bench. "I'm pretty sure I heard your name yelled once or twice." Dillon pauses and Amy's sure it's all for dramatic effect. "You know, If you _care_."

Amy tries for nonchalant, non plussed, non… _everything_. "Well, _of course_ I care. Reagan and I are friends still, obviously, and I hope she's OK and not hurting too much and I'm sure they'll patch it up and…" She trails off at the look on Dillon's face, the same one Lauren gets when she knows Amy's as full of shit as the day is long. "OK," she says, settling down onto the bench. "I _care_."

Dillon offers her the Coke again and this time Amy takes it, gulping down a huge sip, which turns out to be a _very_ bad idea. She sputters and chokes and, basically, acts like someone who never had a little rum in their Coke before.

"Tiny little airplane bottles," Dillon says., patting Amy on the back as she coughs. "King's mom is a flight attendant and she always comes home with a dozen or so of them in her carry on cause the woman's a functional alcoholic _and_ a klepto." She takes the Coke back as Amy's eyes water. "King gives them to me to get them out of the house, I spread them around the bus for trips like this. Everyone except the drivers, of course."

Amy nods, both stunned by the personal revelations _and_ the logic _and_ still unable to form words around the burning in her throat.

"So… you _care_ ," Dillon says. There's no surprise in her voice and Amy doesn't know if that means she's just _that_ obvious or if Reagan had clued Dillon in on how much neither of them really wanted to be apart in the first place.

And that reminds her of the break up and everything that came after and Amy's suddenly wishing for another sip of that Coke.

Dillon shifts on the bench, turning so she can get a better look at Amy. "What level of care we talking about here? Care as in you didn't like Nicole and thought Reagan could do so much better, which, b-t-dubs, I'd be totally with you on." Dillon never liked Nicole and the feeling was mutual though probably not nearly as mutual as it was between her and Amy. "Or," Dillon says," is it care as in you haven't moved on and you don't want Reagan to have moved on either?"

_That_ one, Amy knows, is pretty dead on but she really doesn't like what that says about her, true or not. "Is there another option?"

Dillon smiles as she takes a long slow drink from the can. "There's one more," she says. "Care as in you're still in love with her?"

Amy coughs one last time and curses under her breath. She walked right into that. "A little personal, don't you think?"

Dillon thinks on it for a moment. "Probably," she says, "though three months on a bus with this bunch will have you rethinking your definition of personal." She finishes the Coke and tosses the can into the nearest trash. "Fine, I'll trade you. I'll give you one personal fact about me and then you answer the question."

It's not the best deal she's ever heard but this little chat is distracting Amy from things ( _I miss you_ things) so she goes for it. "OK," she says. "You first."

The other girl runs a hand through her green hair, brushing it back and out of her face. "The first and only girl I ever kissed?" She smiles at Amy and it's both unnerving and arousing and Amy doesn't know what to do with any of that. "Reagan."

It takes a moment - a _long_ one - for it to sink in, for the word to find it's way fully into Amy's brain, but when it does…

"Reagan," she says and for the first time ever, the name rolls of her tongue in a way that doesn't scream 'I want you' or 'I love you' or 'I need to fuck you'. "You," she says. "You kissed Reagan."

"Technically," Dillon says. " _She_ kissed _me_. I was the kissee, not the kisser." She frowns. "At least, at first. I mean, if we're being honest, I totally kissed back after like ten seconds. But I mean, it was Reagan. I _had_ to. Right?"

Logically, as someone who's _seen_ Reagan _and_ been kissed by Reagan, Amy knows the answer to that is 'yes'. Unequivocally, without a fucking doubt 'yes'.

That's _logically_.

In her heart, Amy doesn't like (in fact, she just might _hate_ ) that she now knows _two_ other girls who have kissed Reagan and the fact that one is sitting her, acting so blase about the whole fucking thing - like kissing Reagan could ever be something blase - pisses her off.

And she's not even thinking - not even a little - about the visual of Dillon _and_ Reagan, together, like _that_ cause Amy's not even remotely prepared to deal with the some kinda way _that_ makes her feel.

"Right," she says, after the longest pause ever (so long she's not even sure they're still having the conversation). "It's… um… just a little surprising," she says and then she realizes how _that_ sounds. "Not that it's surprising Reagan would kiss you. I mean, you're obviously hot and all and why wouldn't she kiss you cause, you know, she's into girls and you're into girls and… wait… you're into girls?"

There's a smile on Dillon's face and Amy doesn't know if she's being laughed _at_ or laughed _with_ but there's all those teeth and her nose crinkles a little, right in the middle and Amy can't help thinking Dillon's not the kind to laugh _at_ anyone.

"Am I into girls?" Dillon arches a brow - and it's not quite Reagan levels of 'on fleek' but it's close (assuming Amy's even using the word right) - and shrugs. "Kinda personal, don't you think?"

The stammering apology is right on the tip of Amy's tongue when she sees the wry little grin on Dillon's face. "Turnabout's fair play, right?"

Amy's got not idea where _that_ came from and she's not entirely sure (or even a _little_ ) but she thinks she might actually be flirting. She knows _that's_ a bad idea (distance and time and space and _I miss you_ and all) but it feels… normal… and that, Amy knows, _can't_ be bad.

"Guess you've got a point there, Shr… Sidekick." They both pretend not to notice the almost 'Shrimps' and Amy pretends to not be bothered by her new nickname (and she's really _not_ but can't anyone ever just call her Amy?). "Am I into girls? Honestly? I don't know."

Amy's not sure what she was expecting but that _definitely_ wasn't it. "Not… but… you…" For the briefest of moments, she wonders if this is it, if this is the confusion Karma feels. "You kissed _Reagan_."

"And what?" Dillon asks. "Kissing Reagan means I'm gay? Or would make me gay?" She cocks her head for a moment. "Well… when you put it that way…" She laughs, but the smile's faded and Amy knows they're crossing some kind of line here. "I don't know what I am. Didn't know then, don't know now. Kissing Reagan was…"

Dillon lets out a long breath and shakes her head and Amy thinks that might be the most accurate description of kissing Reagan she's ever heard.

"She was the first girl I ever kissed," Amy says softly. "For real, I mean. I kissed Karma but…"

_If we were faking it, would I do this?_

But it wasn't real, she wants to say. Cause it has to be real for both people, she thinks. And it never was, except maybe in the pool, but she can't think in maybes anymore, she just _can't_.

"She's the _only_ girl I've ever kissed," Dillon says. She's looking at the ground and her hands are fidgeting in her lap. "She's the only _person_ I've ever kissed. And I know how that makes me sound, like I'm some kinda prude and the hair and the tat and the booty shorts I wear on stage and all that is just overcompensation cause I'm totally pent up and withdrawn and introverted."

There's a logic to that Amy can't deny and she can totally see how someone _might_ think that.

But she's not someone.

"Maybe," Amy says, "you're just waiting for the right one. Maybe?" Dillon looks up at her and Amy sees it all right there. The loneliness and the uncertainty and the fucking _fear_ she sees in the mirror every morning. "Or, you know, all that overcompensation stuff you said. Whatever."

It takes a moment - a _long_ one - but _that_ smile slowly creeps back and then Dillon's laughing and shaking her head. "She was _so_ right about you, Sidekick."

Amy doesn't have to ask who 'she' is. "Right about what?"

Dillon stands up from the bench. The bus engine is running but Amy's not worried. She knows they might leave _her_ , but not Dillon. "She said your game was not having game." She smiles down at Amy as she reaches down and plucks the phone from the blonde's hand. "I didn't know what she meant till now."

Amy watches as Dillon's eyes scan the screen, reading the message. They narrow a little as she frowns at the phone but then drops it back in Amy's lap.

"My advice?" she asks. "Turn it off and leave it that way. Distance and space and all that bullshit Reagan sold you so you'd still come with us? She's right. It's the only way to get over… someone."

Someone is general and vague and unspecific and Amy has a feeling Dillon's totally not talking about _someone_.

"But there's a catch," Dillon says. "All the distance and space and time in the world won't work if you don't let it."

She's right. That is the catch. And it's pretty big fucking catch and as Amy fidgets with the phone in her hand she knows. It's not Reagan's fault or Karma's fault or even her own, none of what _happened_ is _anyone's_ fault (or maybe it's _everyone's_ ) but what's happening now? What she's going through right this minute on this bench in whatever state they've crossed into?

That's _her_ fault. And she knows it.

Amy stares down at the phone in her hand, at the words glowing on the screen, and watches as her finger dances over the delete button.

_I miss you_

Her finger hovers there for just a moment, but she knows 'delete' isn't enough. 'Delete; leaves the door open, leaves a chance there and Amy's pretty sure the _last_ thing she needs is a chance.

There's been enough of those.

"Amy?" Dillon calls from the door to the bus. "You coming?"

It takes only a second, maybe less, for her to press the power button and watch as the screen slowly blinks out, fading to black. A second, or maybe less, but it feels so fucking long.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm coming."


	8. It'll Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy gets some advice from Hank, Lauren crushes hard, and we learn a little more about the band.

The last bit of advice Hank gives Amy about filming is simple.

Wait for it, he says. Just… wait.

"It'll come to you," he says, his face rugged and tired and older than Amy remembers as she watches him on the screen of her laptop. "The story you're trying to tell. It'll come. Maybe not the first night or the second or even the last."

The first is tonight and the second is the day after tomorrow and the last is some point out there, in the distance, in some city Amy doesn't remember (but she's sure Lauren does) and she's lucky if she can think past today (and _not_ about _yesterday_ ).

"Maybe," Hank says, "it won't happen till you're sorting through it all, until you're home and looking at everything you've got."

Home. _Home_. Yeah, that's another one of those distant points and 'everything she's got'?

She's not entirely sure what that is anymore but she _is_ sure she's not gonna spend time thinking about it.

Much.

"Filming," he says, "is only the beginning. The story's not _there_. It's what you do with it, how you move it around and arrange it. Sometimes, that's obvious right from the jump, sometimes the moment you click the shutter or press record. Those times you know what you've got."

"That happen a lot?" Amy asks, hoping _the_ hope in her voice gets lost somewhere along the Internet.

"No," Hank says, shaking his head with a smile. "Almost never."

Amy nods. She figured as much and, really, it's not that big a deal. All that means is she's got three months before the Dillholes figure out she's a fraud.

Hopefully.

Cause it's a long fucking walk back to Austin.

Hank laughs. "You'll be fine, Amy," he says. "Those times when it isn't right there, when you've got to work for it a little bit? Those are the _best_ times. You'll see. It'll all fall into place and take shape as you look at it and then? Then you'll realize you knew it all along."

"Knew?" Amy asks, thinking (to herself) that her father's sounding more like some middle aged Yoda every fucking day and she really doesn't remember him being this Zen when he lived at home. "Knew what?"

"What was happening," Hank says. "What was _going_ to happen. You knew it all along somewhere, somehow, even if it seems like the biggest shock in the world."

Amy pales at the computer but Hank doesn't notice (screen resolution and all that) but Lauren does, sitting on the tiny couch and she doesn't wonder why for a second.

Sometimes 'woah' means 'I know'. Or, more accurately, 'I knew'. Even if you didn't know you did.

"You've just got to trust," Hank says and the sound of his voice, so fatherly with the advice and the guidance and Amy can't help wondering if this is what it's like for other girls when their fathers teach them to ride a bike or drive a car. "Trust that if you film enough, it'll be there, that's practical bit. But, more importantly, you've gotta trust yourself. Trust yourself to let it get where it needs to be."

"Trust _myself_?" Amy asks (and if Hank doesn't pick up on _that_ tone, Lauren thinks, he should have his father card revoked.)

(And maybe he should anyway.)

"Why trust me?" Amy asks. "It's my movie, sure, but it's _about_ them, the band. It's their story."

"Of course it's _about_ them, baby girl," Hanks says and he smiles at her and Amy remembers the last time she saw something _he_ filmed, a home movie of her seventh birthday. The last one he was home for and the last party she remembers having. "The film might be about them, but every movie, every photograph, every story of _any_ kind?" She sees that far off look in his eye, the one she always saw before he vanished for a month or six or a year and she worried (not that she'd ever admit it) that she'd never see him again. "The story," he says, "is always _yours_."

They say their goodbyes and their love yous and Amy promises to send Hank some of her footage once she has some and Hank remembers, at the last second, to tell her to say hi to Lauren ("assuming she doesn't want to kill me," he says) and then he's gone. Again.

All these years, Amy thinks, I should be used to it by now.

But then again, now she's the one doing _it_ , she's the Hank and Karma (or Reagan) (or _both_ ) are the Farrah and that's just _wrong_ and she's so not thinking about _that_ again.

Lauren 'harumphs' from the motel room's tiny couch and Amy looks up expectantly, but the blonde refuses to look away from her magazine, even if that magazine is a month old _Sports Illustrated_ she stole from Ryan ( _King_ , Amy reminds herself).

"It's good to know what the people you're traveling with are interested in," she'd said when Amy held up the _SI_ questioningly and Amy had rolled her eyes and Dillon had laughed and muttered under her breath that she knew _damn well_ what King was interested in and it had _nothing_ to do with sports.

"He doesn't know a football from a basketball and if it doesn't have strings or tits, he really doesn't care," Dillon said. "But he's a good dude. Really. I swear. Would I be best friends with a jackass?" And then Beef had honked the horn and they all filed back on and Amy pretended not to have heard the question.

Not that she had ever asked herself that very same thing.

"Something to say?" Amy asks, leaning back on the bed. The room is small with the one bed and the tiny couch and even though Lauren groaned and frowned and bitched about how she was going to sleep on the bus, Amy knows she's loving it.

It's small and cramped and dirty and everything home isn't and Amy snores and King is… _King_ … and Lauren doesn't know what to do with herself but it's _not_ Austin and right now, for both of them, that outweighs anything else.

"Why would you think I have anything to say?" Lauren asks, her eyes never leaving the magazine but she hasn't turned the page in five minutes and as attractive as that issue's cover girl (Ronda Rousey) may be (and Amy really thinks she is, which kinda scares her a little, but so does Ronda and maybe that's the point), Amy's pretty sure Lauren's not reading or even looking at the pictures.

"You 'harumphed'," Amy says.

"Just something in the article," Lauren says ( _lies_ ). "I certainly wasn't 'harumphing' advice from a man whose major accomplishment in life is wrecking _two_ marriages."

It's _three_ , Amy thinks, remembering her one stepmother Becky (or was it Becca?). "And a Pulitzer," she says. "And two California Academy of the Arts awards, a half dozen regional prizes, _another_ Pulitzer nomination and…"

"And?"

"And his _greatest_ accomplishment," Amy says and she's pretty sure the grin on her face is the very definition of 'shit eating'. "Me." Lauren groans and rolls her eyes and Amy laughs. "When it comes to… _life_ … my father is often an idiot. When it comes to filming…"

Lauren drops the magazine. "Maybe," she says. "I still don't like him."

"And I still don't blame you," Amy says, not adding in that there's been more than a few time she hasn't liked him much either. "But you know, if it wasn't my dad…"

"It would've been mine," Lauren finishes. "Or his secretary. Or one of Farrah's coworkers or Principal Turner or some woman from the golf club. Yes," she says. "I know."

They both know and that makes it about… less than one-tenth of one percent easier.

Still, any tenth is a good tenth.

"He did seem to have good advice on the filming thing," Lauren says and Amy can _hear_ how much that hurt her to say.

She nods and then shrugs and that's about as honest an answer as she can give. "I guess," she says. "I mean he is the expert and all. But…"

Lauren pulls her knees up onto the couch, dropping the magazine to the floor, Ronda's steely glare staring up at them and that's _so_ where Amy's eyes are. "But what?" Lauren asks and Amy startles. Even though they've been closer for a while now, it still catches her a bit off guard when Lauren is, you know, _nice_.

"But… _my_ story? I mean… _really_?"

Lauren cocks her head. "You don't think you have an interesting story?" she asks.

"Oh, I do," Amy says. "Epic, remember? Monkeys throwing shit at walls epic. _Too_ epic and too weird and no one in their right mind would watch it, unless it was on some half-assed network that aired a bunch of other crap or maybe if they could download it illegally, you know?"

Lauren just stares at her and Amy knows she's _completely_ jumped the conversational shark, like when _Teen Wolf_ wrote off Derek or _Scandal_ wanted to make Smellie-Mellie President.

"I just don't get what _my_ story would have to do with _them_ ," she says, nodding at the motel room window. The band is gathering on the other side of the glass, out in the parking lot. Their first gig is tonight and they've got sound check in about three hours. Neither girl has ever been to one of those and Ryan ( _King_ ) made it sound interesting, at least to Lauren.

"Well, according to Hank Scorsese there," Lauren says as she hops off the couch, "that's what you've got to figure out." She grabs Amy's camera bag from the floor. "And what better time to start than now?"

"Now?" Amy asks. " _Right_ now?"

Lauren nods and heads for the door. "You need to get to know people if you're going to be filming them," she says, ignoring the 'I know _exactly_ who you want me to get to know' look on Amy's face. "Some background interviews wouldn't hurt. You know… find out their likes, their dislikes…"

"Their turn ons, turn offs, if they like Pina Coladas and gettin caught in the rain?" Amy asks, hopping of the bed and ducking the throw pillow (cheap motel, cheap bed, cheap towels, cheap everything and it's got _throws_?) Lauren flings her way. She glances out the window and sees Ryan ( _King!_ ) out there in an old wife beater and a pair of well worn cargo shorts and - cleared up attraction to guys or not - even Amy can see the appeal. "Fine," she says. "I'll interview. But only because you're my sister and I loooooove you -" she ducks another throw pillow and laughs. "Just don't jump in and interrogate him, OK?"

Lauren smiles and Amy follows her out the door, and the last thing she hears before the band greets them with a chorus of 'Mama Bear on the prowl!' and 'Hey, Camera Girl, ready for my closeup!' (and a quiet and half whispered 'Hey, Sidekick' from Dillon and it's the first thing she's really said to Amy since the rest stop and Amy's surprised by the warm rush it gives her) is Lauren's promise.

"I won't interrogate," she says. "As long as he tells you what I want to know."

* * *

Amy's got a vague idea what _Lauren_ wants to know (and if she doesn't, she's sure her sister will be all to happy to tell her) but she doesn't have the first fucking clue what _she_ wants to know.

She keeps thinking there should be some deep, meaningful, super insightful, change the world kinda question she should be asking. Like Barbara Walters and 'what kind of tree would you be?' only with less tree and more something… intelligent… and _yes_ , that was a _horrible_ example and she realizes that _now_.

But the point remains.

She's been wracking her brain (and Amy's _always_ thought the phrase should be _wrecking_ your brain cause that would be so much more _accurate_ ) and she's got nothing but name and instrument and how long have you been in the band and for fuck's sake even she'd fall asleep ten minutes into this documentary and she watches _anything_.

The Beef (real name Buck and Buck the Beef will now never leave her head, _ever_ ) is up first and he settles into the seat at the back of the bus. It's a good spot with natural light and a faux-intimate feel that lets Amy linger her shots on the subject's face (which in Beef's case is an _excellent_ choice). He's got his sticks and they're tapping away softly on the seat in front of him, keeping a perfect beat with whatever tune it is that only he hears.

He's lost in the groove, contentedly drumming the beat, his shoulders rolling with the rhythm and Amy lets the camera rest on him, capturing this moment when it's just him and the music in his head.

And that's when it hits her and it's so fucking _obvious_ yet _deep_ all at once and she can't believe she never thought of it before.

"Why music?" she asks and Beef's eyes pop open and the sticks still for just a moment.

"Why music?" he repeats and Amy nods, careful not to move the camera. He thinks for a moment, the sticks slowly begin moving again, a steady tap-tap-taptaptap on the bus seat in front of him. And then he laughs and when The Beef laughs, The Beef _laughs_. It shakes him from head to toes and Amy pans back, letting the camera catch the roll of joy that ripples through him. "That's _easy_ , Camera Girl. Why music? One word. _Girls_."

Amy pops her head out from behind the camera and she can _feel_ Lauren's eyes rolling from here. "Girls?"

Beef nods. "Not to say that y'all are superficial or anything," he says. "But have you _seen_ me? Chicks dig _rock_ -n-roll not _fat_ rolls. But music… it's the equalizer, baby. I may not be Captain America out there like King, but not every girl's gonna get the Guitar God, you know?"

Amy nods and Lauren groans and outside the bus King talks to two townie girls in outfits Lauren wouldn't be caught dead in and Amy can only hope _that_ stays true for the entire trip.

"Thanks, Buck," Lauren says. "Could you send King in on your way out?" Beef is up and out of the seat - sticks still rapping away on his leg - before Amy has a chance to protest.

"Did you think maybe you should ask if _I_ was done with him before you sent him away?" she asks, silently letting the camera run as she looks at Lauren.

" _That_ was your big question," Lauren snaps, "and you were done with him and you should really focus on the _important_ people and I swear to God if you find a way to work cut and veiny into this segment I will cut _you_."

King drops into the seat across from her and Amy cuts through the usual BS and cuts to the chase and that's just about enough _cutting_ for now.

"Why music?" she asks and King stares at her for a minute.

And, really, he's staring at the camera, like he's afraid of it and for someone who hits the stage in front of hundreds at a time, one little blinking red light seems to have brought him to a standstill. Amy lets it drift down a little, catching a shot of his fingers curling his lap.

"What chord is that?" she asks, nodding at his fingers. King looks down and surprise washes over his face, like he didn't even know he was doing it.

"E," he says, judging the finger placement on the nonexistent guitar. "It all starts there, you know. Fucking A.. fucking _E_." He laughs at his own joke - which neither Amy or Lauren get, though Amy suspects Lauren will be Googling the _fuck_ out of E chords in about ten minutes - and looks back at the camera. "Why music, right?" he asks. "That was the question?"

Amy nods. "Yup. Why music? What does it do for you?"

"Honestly never thought about it much," he says and then pauses, glancing out the window behind him. Dillon's there, watching, and he shakes his head. "And so _that's_ a lie. I think about music all the time."

Amy zooms in a little, letting the small smile playing across his lips take up the frame. Like every other move she's made there's nothing behind it except… _something_.

But fuck if she knows what it is.

"When I was a kid," King says, "I hated the silence. I couldn't even sleep in it. Dill loaned me her old mp3 player and I smuggled into it bed with me. Bitch loaded that thing up with such _crap_."

"Yeah?" Lauren chimes in. Amy knows she's curious about the Dillon-King dynamic (and she's not the _only_ one) so she doesn't mind the intrusion.

King nods. "You'd have probably _loved_ it, Camera Girl. She had Backstreet Boys on there and old school Ninety Eight Degrees and… fuck… she had _Lionel Richie_. You know who that is?"

"Hello," Lauren says. "Before Adele, he _was_ 'Hello'." She hums a few bars and King grins.

"Hello," he sings softly. "Is it me you're looking for?"

Amy's struck by his voice which isn't _Adele_ (or even Lionel) but it's clearly not 'I sing in the shower and _only_ in the shower' either.

"Those songs… ugh… I had ' _I Want it That Way'_ stuck in my head for most of fifth grade," he says. His fingers twitch and Amy looks up to see Lauren watching them as intently as she's ever seen the tiny blonde do _anything_. "And I still couldn't sleep and I would just lay there in bed writing my own quote-unquote songs with ripped off chord progressions and the lyrics… fuck… so _bad_."

"But you kept going," Amy says.

"It's all I'm good at," he says. "I was a crap student and I sucked at manual labor. Not muscular enough."

"I don't know about _that_ ," Amy says and she can feel Lauren's eyes burning a hole into her but it's too easy and too good an opportunity to pass up. "You're in pretty good shape. Not all cut and veiny like those gym freaks."

King eyes her for a second and there's a flirty comeback poised to fire but then he remembers gay and Reagan and mess and Dillon threatening him before the bus left Austin (and there's a look on Mama Bear's face he just doesn't want to _fuck with_ ) and then the moment is gone.

"Yeah… well… it wasn't for me and if I had to ask one more mom if she wanted apples or go-gurt with her tinies' Happy Meal, I was gonna stick my own head in the fryalator."

"So music it is then," Amy says.

"Yeah," King nods again. "Music it is. And I love it. The bus, the tour, the cheap bars and the cheap motels and the people who don't know who we are and won't remember us even after they do." He laughs at the pretty picture of life on the road he's painting for them. "But for an hour or so every few nights, I get to plug in and that lets me _unplug_ and that's kinda worth it's weight in gold, you know?"

Amy lowers the camera as she nods. Music for King is this trip for her and she only hopes hers works as well as his.

He smiles at Lauren as he leaves and then Dillon's there (freakishly quickly and Amy's relieved because it puts off her 'Death by Lauren' off for at least a few minutes). Amy settles the camera in and lets the lens frame the other girl's face. Dillon turns slightly, like she can't look at the thing dead on (and there's the tip of that mystery tat curling up along her neck and Amy still can't see it).

"Buck warned me," she says. "Why music, right?" Amy nods and Dillon laughs. "Look at you, Sidekick, getting all philosophical on us."

"I try," Amy replies. "Figured I had to redeem myself after the Halsey incident."

Dillon laughs again and it's not as body rocking as Buck (and _that's_ a shame) but it's still something Amy wouldn't mind hearing a little more often and she smiles at the sound of it until she catches Lauren looking at her quizzically and _that's_ just enough of _that_.

"Can I tell you a little secret?" Dillon asks. "Though since you _are_ filming this it probably won't stay a secret, but… I don't like Halsey much either. Talented as hell and _exactly_ the kind of woman we need in music, but…"

"Nothing," Amy says. "Didn't do a fucking thing for me."

"Exactly," Dillon says. "It's like a I can appreciate a great painting or sculpture and _know_ that they're technically brilliant but… if it doesn't _hit_ me, it means jack shit and she just doesn't… hit me. Not even a teeny-tiny punch to the gut."

Amy nods excitedly and then catches sight of Lauren again and calms herself into a more… professional… response. Filmmaker and subject and that's it and so what If Lauren is all into King already and Amy's just excited to make a friend (one she's never kissed or professed her love to), that's _so_ not the point of this trip.

At all.

Nope. Not even a little.

Right.

"So," she says, "is that 'why music' for you? You want to… hit people?"

Dillon chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Thought I distracted you enough you might forget," she says. "I'd love to reach people like that. The thought that hundreds of people… thousands maybe… might hear me and _feel_ …" She trails off and, unlike the other two, there's nothing for Amy to focus on in the silence. No drumming, no chord clutching, nothing but Dillon and her face and the about a thousand and one emotions rolling over it.

One day, Amy thinks, she's gonna have some serious questions for Dillon. And she can't help wondering if _that_ was Reagan's point all along.

She watches through the lens as Dillon leans back against the wall of the bus, her head resting against the cool glass of the window. "Truth is," she says, "I don't do it for them, the people that listen, or for _them_ ," she nods out the window at the rest of the band still milling about. "I do it… selfish as this sounds… I do it just for me. Because I _have_ to. Because every time I sing a song , it's like for three minutes and forty-seven seconds, I'm not _me_. I'm someone else with someone else's shit and someone else's joy and I can just be because in three minutes and forty-seven seconds, I can walk away."

She pauses and looks at the two blondes across from her and the expression on her face goes from 'lost in thought' to 'oh fuck, you think I'm _nuts_ and you might be _right_ '.

"Yeah, so now that I've freaked you both the fuck out…"

"No!" Amy snaps and Lauren shakes her head in agreement. "I mean, that made… sense. A lot of… sense." She looks down at the camera in her hand, the one her dad gave her and that she's just messing with cause she doesn't _really_ know…

Except that's not right.

Amy didn't know. _That_ Amy.

And maybe this one still doesn't but Amy's pretty sure she can end that sentence with 'not yet' and that's a step, a big one, and it scares the shit out of her and makes her think of Karma and Reagan and how much safer everything _was_ and how much she realizes that safe equaled pain, _her_ pain.

She knew what to do with _that_.

And as Dillon and Lauren file off the bus and Amy sits there, left behind, she wonders if maybe _that_ was Reagan's point all along and then she shrugs her shoulders and follows them off the bus.

Reagan can have her point. _This_ Amy's gonna make her own.

She's just gotta wait for it. It'll come.


	9. Get Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy takes in her first show of the tour and finds herself a bit turned on (more than a bit) and tries not to overthink, which leads her somewhere... (someone)... different.

The first time it happens, Amy never sees it coming.

The first show of the tour is in Louisiana - Shreveport, to be exact - and it's nothing like she expects, even if she isn't really sure _what_ she expected. She saw enough shows when she was with Reagan to have an _idea_ , but this band is different and this club is different and maybe, she thinks (when she _lets_ herself think about it) it's not the band or the club or even the state.

Maybe it's her.

She tries not to think about it too much because that, she knows, is what she does. She overthinks. She gets an idea in her head and she worries it down to the nub, slowly whittling it down to nothing but a tiny nugget of anxiety that lodges itself in her brain like the pea under the princess's mattress.

It's good, Amy thinks, to know yourself. Even if that knowing doesn't stop you from doing what you know you shouldn't, and with her?

It almost never does.

But she's turning over a new leaf, even if that leaf turning is still just a work in progress, but she's trying and that's what counts. So, as the band preps and soundchecks and the crowds start to file in and Lauren disappears somewhere backstage with Amy's camera (the still one, not the video cause that one's seemingly been attached to Amy's hand by duct tape or superglue or the fucking _force_ ) she tries really hard not to think about it. To not ponder the changes she's going through and to analyze them all to fucking death bit by tiny bit.

And that lasts till just before show time, till the house lights start to dim and she starts panning the camera across the front row (not that there's really _rows_ , more like disorganized lines zigging from slightly drunk and zagging to smashed out of their mind and back again) and she watches through the lens as the focus shifts as the camera corrects for light and distance and she's totally _not_ trying to zoom in on the two (very) attractive young ladies in the front and _definitely_ not on the chest of the… bigger… of the two or her t-shirt, stretched _tight_ across her or the word there, in BIG and **BOLD** blue letters.

**CLEMENT**

And what was that about _not_ thinking?

Somehow (and she totally blames Dillon and Lauren for this, though there's no rational reason why but this is _Amy_ and whether it's new Amy or old Amy, rationality is never her friend) she hasn't thought of _that_ little detail until right this minute.

"We're in Louisiana," she says, the camera tipping slightly and getting an extreme close up of the floorboards on the side of the stage.

"Have been all day, Sidekick," Dillon says. She's _right_ behind Amy,rolling her neck back and forth and letting out little sighs that make Amy think of women in labor on TV. "You didn't do well in geography in school, did you?"

Amy turns and looks at her (and there's that tattoo again, sticking out just under the strap of her top - if you can call what she's wearing a top - and Amy _still_ can't see it) and she tries to speak, tries to explain but she hears the words coming out of her mouth before she even says them.

_You don't understand. We're in_ Louisiana. _Home of Clement University. Home of_ the dream _._

And yeah… she'll be keeping _that_ to herself.

King comes up behind Dillon and they start going over the set list one more time - Amy's got the fucking thing memorized and she only heard it _once_ \- and that leaves her with just the camera and the stage and the blonde with the big… _hair_ … under the too tight t-shirt that she probably wouldn't be able to take her eyes off of even if it _didn't_ have… _that_ … emblazoned on it.

She tries not to think about it, tries to remember that until about two minutes ago she didn't even _know_ that they were so close to Clement (even though they're practically at the other end of the state but when you're talking about _the dream_ , close is a relative fucking term.) Amy does her best to just focus on the show and the crowd and letting it come to her (thanks, Dad) but then there's another one - another shirt on another young (and attractive and _why the fuck_ couldn't at least one of them be ugly?) woman - and then another and another and they're all through the crowd and she spends at least five minutes playing connect-the-breasts and almost misses the beginning of the show until King's screeching riff from some song she doesn't know (which, she later finds out, was the Dillholes doing The Pretty Reckless' _Going to Hell_ , which she thinks might be appropriate.)

Amy manages to zone back in and stick with the show and the band, at least through the first couple songs but then she (and, by extension, the camera) start to drift again, setting sail into the crowd and it takes all of thirty seconds to find the Sea of Clement in the audience and she feels herself start to drown but she's got nothing (and no one) to hold onto.

They're all young, though not as young as her - even if she feels like she looks older, like she could be their big sister or their sorta cougar girlfriend - and they're lost in the music, shaking their hair and their hips and raising their cups and their bottles high. They're cutting loose and having fun and not a one of them, she's sure, is sparing a single thought for their future or how their school of choice will impact it and whether they'll still be friends three months (or three _years_ ) from now.

God, she's so fucking _jealous_.

There's a part of her (one that sounds an awful lot like Karma) that wonders, that whispers in her ear, asking if she thinks they're best friends, if they all planned on college together (and then life _after_ it) for years, mapping it all out and knowing that they'd face it all the way they'd faced everything else.

Together.

Amy turns the camera onto King, soloing his way through _House of the Rising Sun_ and beats that tiny part of her - the one that sounds so much like Karma - back with the biggest mental stick she's got. And then King moves up, right to the edge of the stage, dropping to his knees and he's right in front of _them_ and they're screaming and grabbing at him like he's one of the Beatles (even if Amy's _sure_ none of them could even name _one_ Beatle) and she catches sight of them in the camera again...

And fuck all, that stick's not nearly big enough.

But the show is rocking and Dillon is _killing it_ (and if she hears _that_ in Reagan's voice, well that's only _fair_ , right?) and Amy shakes her head and focuses back on the camera and the stage and does her best to ignore the Clementines (and yes, she thought of that on her own and yes, she is fucking _proud_ ) and just do her job.

A job Dillon and King seem determined to make as hard as possible, even if Amy knows they actually have no idea they're doing anything at all.

Her dad's advice aside, Amy already figured - logically - that focusing on the lead singer and the lead guitarist might make for the smartest plan. There will be, she figures, plenty of shows for her to get footage of Beef and Rodney (bass) and Lacey (guitar and sometimes keys) - the one Lauren called Bookworm - and so tonight, she thought, would be all about the Big Two.

And then _that_ Big Two decided to spend half their night near the edge of the stage or out in the crowd or pulling a Clementine or two up on stage and Amy can't help focusing the camera on the _other_ Big Two and fuck… it's the first show and she's already turned into Liam Booker with a camcorder.

Amy does her best - which for the _first_ night isn't bad but leaves a lot ( _a lot_ ) of room for improvement - to focus where she should and, in a lot of ways, that's not that hard. King has a magnetic quality to him (and Lauren, standing in the wings on the other side of the stage, snapping still shot after still shot - an alarmingly high percentage of which will turn out to be of King - certainly seems… _attracted_ ) and Amy catches herself getting lost a couple of times in the way he plays. A few songs end with him just riffing his way into the next one and she lets the camera follow the sway of his shoulders and the bobbing of his head and he navigates the music and, just for a minute, she gets why girls love guitar players.

But if King is a magnet?

Then Dillon is the North Fucking Pole. Or the tractor beam from the Death Star or a black hole or some other inescapable _force_ because it doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman or gay or straight or something in between.

Amy's sure ( _so fucking sure_ ) that there's not a person in that club that Dillon couldn't have.

She doesn't so much move as she does _stalk_ or _hunt_ , criss-crossing the stage in long, deliberate steps that make her hips move in ways Amy didn't know they could, hopping up on speakers or amps, crouching down at the edge of the stage and even then her body never stops, and she's all shoulders and abs and hips and ass and none of it stops moving, not even for a second, swaying like a hypnotist's watch but she's not putting a single one of those fuckers to _sleep._

She's like a panther - like a green haired, six packed, swivel hipped panther- and yes, Amy knows how cliched (and ridiculous) that sounds, but she's not all that well read on her jungle cats and there's no other… description… nothing not x-rated at least… that does _justice_ to what Dillon does to that stage, so panther will have to do for now and that's fine because Amy has _another_ word for her, maybe ( _not_ maybe) a better one.

Star.

So, yeah, it's a tiny little club in Louisiana (Shreveport, to be exact, _again_ ) and so maybe she's not Adele or Beyonce but she's already got the one name thing down and Reagan wasn't wrong about the voice. So she's not a _super_ star (yet), maybe she's just a small one. A white dwarf - so like the size of Asia (and she might have sucked at geography, but Amy fucking _aced_ astronomy) - but anyone with eyes and a brain (and a couple other parts) can tell that whatever 'it' is? That girl's got it.

Dillon's made 'it' her bitch and made 'it' like it.

And that, Amy knows, is _good_ and not just for the band, but good for _her_ because even if she wanted to (and she really _doesn't_ , mostly) she can't move the camera off Dillon. She's everywhere. Leaning against King as he shreds a brief cover of _Smells Like Teen Spirit_ , trying to steal Beef's drumsticks during _Back in Black_ , teasing a dive into the crowd (and disappointing a _lot_ of hands.) The stage is small but even if it was the size of Madison Square Garden, it wouldn't change the most basic fact.

Dillon owns it. Every fucking inch.

And that's _before_. Before the moment when Amy realizes that yes, she can want to _fuck_ someone without being in love with them and the moment when she realizes she's not alone in that feeling.

That's before _Gonna Get Mine_.

Dillon is at the front of the stage and Amy's doing her level best (which is, for the most part, good enough) to keep the camera aimed over her shoulder, to show the crowd reacting to her, to give some scope and some depth and to _not_ focus directly on the girl's ass and when Dillon crouches down right at the edge that makes it easier and harder all at once.

Amy's heard the song before (Felix was a huge Halestorm fan and once she's able to get past _that_ unfortunate association, she remembers the song) and she knows the music is supposed to start first, that Beef and King and Rodney are supposed to lay down the beat, get the crowd stomping along.

But when you've got Dillon?

You _use_ Dillon.

She starts it off acapella and if _Pitch Perfect_ (and sorta _Pitch Perfect Two,_ though really not as much cause Fat Amy and Bumper and ugh) didn't teach Amy an appreciation for acapella, the next thirty or so seconds do the trick nicely.

Dillon crouches at the edge of the stage, right in front of the Clementines, and starts it off, her head bobbing in time with the beat she hears in her head.

_Naked pictures on my telephone_

_All my secrets that you weren't supposed to know_

_But I sleep just fine every single night_

She leans into the crowd, the Clementines leaning up to meet her.

_Cause I got a film tape_

She reaches out one hand, ghosting a touch across the cheek of the Clementine with the huge… hair…

_You will never find…_

The band kicks in behind her and the crowd goes wild and Dillon stands, shooting devil horns to the sky.

_And everybody wants to know what I got going on below_

_But then they'll never get all of me_

Dillon runs a hand down along her body, slowly turning her back to the audience and then she's looking right into the camera and right _through_ Amy and _fuck_ , it's hard to breathe…

_Na na nananana, I get what I want and I'm gonna get mine_

_Na na nananana, I get what I want and I'm gonna get mine_

_Imma get mine… Imma get mine… Imma get mine… Imma get mine… Imma get mine…_

She turns again, walking to the edge, her toes over it and Amy knows what she's going to do even before she does it.

_Uninvited to my fantasy_

_So get the fuck out of my legacy_

Dillon steps off the edge, dropping right into the laps of the Clementines and Amy's got her doubts that any of them would pass up a shot with Liam (or Felix or even _Shane_ for that matter) but in that moment, that's the hottest little cluster of lesbians ever caught on film and it's definitely a better soundtrack.

_I'm pleading guilty_

Dillon's hands find the hips of one of the Clementines who spins around, whooping and hollering, hands in the air like she just don't care, and then she's grinding and Dillon's _right_ behind her and the camera might slip a little but Amy'll fix that in editing.

_And my fate's been sentenced_

Another of the Clementines comes up behind Dillon and they make the oddest (and hottest) (and most musically gifted) (and did she mention _hottest_?) conga line ever and they start moving through the crowd but it's not really moving, more like snaking and shaking and grinding and wiggling and _God, how long is this song?_

_And if I had to do it all over again_

_I'd do it_

Dillon leans back against the Clementine behind her, letting her head rest on the girl's shoulder as she moves in time with the beat, her abs shaking as she swings her hips from side to side

_I'd do it_

Another swing and Dillon's voice drops like a fucking octave and she's practically growling and Reagan _so_ wasn't kidding.

_I'd do it again_

She stretches out the end, turning 'again' into at least eight syllables and the crowd loses their collective shit as she finishes the note and kisses each of her Clementine dancers on the cheek and heads back to the stage, hopping up on the edge in time to finish it out, her back to the audience.

_And everybody wants to know what I got going on below_

Amy only wishes she was out in the crowd for _that_ view.

_But they'll never get all of me_

_Na na nananana, I get what I want and I'm gonna get mine_

_Na na nananana, I get what I want and I'm gonna get mine_

The band drops out again and Dillon finishes like she started, acapella and with the crowd eating out of… the palm of her hand.

_Imma get mine… Imma get mine… Imma get mine… Imma get mine…_

_Imma get miiiiiiiiiiiine…_

And the lights go down and the crowd erupts and just like that, Amy's first show is done and over and she barely has time to shut the camera down and give it to one of the crew to take to the bus before Dillon and King and Lauren (and how the hell did _she_ get there so _fast_?) are next to her and tugging her out into the club and onto the floor.

"Meet and mingle!" King yells. "Best part of the gig! Free drinks!"

They all surge off into the crowd and Amy's left there but she's laughing and not freaking and the music's cranked and people are dancing and she's not thinking at all, much less over thinking and she lets the rush of the night take her and she throws her hands over her head and sways her way into the masses.

And right into one of the Clementines. The one with the hair and not the _big_ hair, the _red_ hair that sparks its way over her shoulders and down her back and it's not that she doesn't have _big_ hair, it's plenty big enough but then there's those eyes - so green Amy feels Irish just looking - and those lips and those curves…

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," Amy says back.

And then she's kissing her and the Clementine (her name is Gabby and Amy won't know that for another few minutes and she'll barely remember it tomorrow morning until Lauren _and_ Gabby remind her) is kissing her back and it's the first time Amy's been kissed since the pool and the first time _she's_ kissed anyone since Reagan (cause she's so _not_ counting Felix) and there's a whoop from the crowd and camera flashes going off all around them and somewhere, in the back of her mind, Amy knows this is gonna end up on Facebook or Snapchat or Tumblr and that _can't_ end well for her.

But that's something to _think_ about.

And Amy's just not doing _that_.


End file.
